


Aquaman

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve rolls his eyes and immediately deflects. “How about you, man?” he forces himself to ask, not sure why he really <em>doesn't</em> want to know the answer. “Any dates lately?”</p><p>Danny scoffs and waves one hand dismissively. “As if I have time for that. While you’re trying to save the citizens of Oahu, I’m too busy trying to save Oahu from <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Steve wonders for a second why that answer relaxes him—why it eases the tight knot in his gut—but before he can think about it too hard, their phones are ringing, Chin is on speakerphone reading out an address, and Steve is pulling a sharp u-turn and speeding toward a crime scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under the mirror of the surface

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter names are from the lovely song by Walk the Moon (on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRVgptW7bYg)).
> 
> And the rest of the story is basically finished; the other chapters (probably six in total) just need some polishing.

Steve turns his head, takes a deep breath, and then feels sand just barely trickle through his fingers as he cuts through the water. Just a few more strokes— _one, two_ —and then he’s standing up, shaking his head to dislodge the worst of the water, and swiping his hand over his face. He sweeps both hands through his hair and wades through the water the last few feet to the shore, pausing for about half a second to turn his head and give the Hawaiian sunrise a cursory glance.

He makes his way over to the grass near the house and drops down, not stopping to catch his breath before he launches into pushups. Steve counts methodically by ten— _eighty, ninety, one hundred_ —then flips over onto his back to repeat the process with situps. After he’s finished, he lets himself lie there for a second to relish the familiar burn in his abs and shoulders before scrambling to his feet and heading for the house. Grabbing the towel flung over the back of a deck chair, he takes just a second to pat himself mostly dry and reaches for the lanai door.

The door squeaks as it swings open, the sound disconcertingly loud in the silent house, and he winces. He mentally adds it to his to-do list for the weekend—some WD-40 should fix that right up, he thinks, worst case scenario he’ll get some new hinge pins. Steve strides toward the kitchen, swiping his phone off the table on the way, and opens the fridge to grab the smoothie he made earlier that morning.

He forgoes a glass—why dirty another dish when you can drink out of the blender—and leans against the counter. Glancing through his email on his phone, he immediately deletes a few from HPD, smiles at some meme forwarded from Grace that he doesn’t completely understand, and cringes when he comes across a message from Cath. He goes through the rest of his email, slowly, before he scrolls back up to Cath’s.

Steve takes a deep breath and opens it, scanning it quickly. Only a few lines, per Cath’s style, just general pleasantries and the going-ons of her ship, but he can’t help his feeling of unease as he reads it. He’d like to tell himself that his discomfort is because they’re getting more serious and he’s just scared of commitment, but he’s not really in the habit of lying to himself. First of all, they really _aren’t_ getting more serious. They’re still non-exclusive, pretty much friends with benefits who exchange favors and dinner and sex. Steve should be thrilled with the situation, but for some reason lately it’s been making him uncomfortable. It’s too easy, and not in a good way.

He’s always been fond of Cath in a friend way, of course, and often eager to hop into bed with her because, hey—he’s only human. But he doesn’t _need_ her, and he functions just fine when she’s gone. He does love her, in a way, and thinks that the love for her and _from_ her is probably the best he’s ever going to get. And that makes him feel like a complete asshole.

Then a text from Danny pops up, and he straightens in his seat, eager to stop thinking about Cath. _Be there in 10_ , it reads, and Steve grins. Lately they’ve been carpooling together more often than not, and Steve’s happier on the days that they do—he loves driving the Camaro, after all, and he can usually finagle the keys away from Danny if he plays his cards right. Tilting his head back, Steve uses his tongue to catch the last few smoothie drops. With a greatly improved mood, he washes the blender, flicks on the coffeemaker, and bounds up the stairs.

One three-minute Navy shower later, Steve stands in front of his dresser and pulls out a new pair of cargo pants—black this time, and he knows Danny will comment. The coffee’s ready by the time Steve trots back down the stairs, so he pulls out two mugs—he always saves the gaudy “I HEART HAWAII” one for Danny. He hears the front door open but just continues to prep the coffee, black for him and milk and sugar for Danny.

“Nice new cargo pants there, babe,” Danny says as he strolls into the kitchen. “What, are all your other ones too blood-stained?”

Steve grins. Right on cue.

“A tie? Again?” he says, turning around and taking in Danny’s tie, today a light blue pinstripe. It actually looks quite striking against his stark white shirt, but he’ll _never_ tell Danny that. Maybe Steve is learning to like ties? “I thought we’ve talked about this.”

Danny shrugs and reaches forward to accept the cup of coffee Steve’s offering to him.

“Correction. You said some shit, I ignored you. I like ties. I like being a _professional_ , something you need to learn more about.”

Steve scoffs and sips at his coffee. “Come on. When am I not professional?”

Danny goes off immediately—something about proper police procedure, rights, blah blah blah—and sets his coffee on the counter behind him. Figuring that Danny needs both hands free, Steve braces himself for a true rant. But Danny’s arms don’t start waving; rather he leans back against the counter and unbuttons his shirt cuffs. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, tucks them under, and then Steve is wondering when Danny got so tan. Or is it just the contrast with the white shirt?

All of a sudden Steve realizes he hasn’t actually looked away yet from Danny’s forearms, and the duration of his gaze is rapidly encroaching on creeper territory. What the fuck is going _on_? He mentally shakes himself and racks his brain for something innocuous.

“So, uh, how was your night last night?”

“Oh, you mean the past eight or so hours since I left?”

He cringes as Danny gestures widely, which Steve guesses is supposed to encompass the stupidity of the question. Right, Danny had come over last night to watch a football game. Fuck, what was wrong with him today? Maybe he swam too hard this morning.

Danny just raises his eyebrows, the rest of his face obscured by his coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

Danny drains the rest of his cup in one long swallow and crosses the kitchen to the sink, bumping Steve out of the way with his hip. Steve looks him up and down and quickly spots the telltale bulge of his car keys in his back pocket. He grins to himself, getting ready to run, and quickly snatches the keys. Ignoring Danny’s token groan of protest, he darts out of the house.

“I’m driving,” he calls over his shoulder. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late.”

By the time he’s settled in the driver’s seat, Danny’s locking the door with his key. Ignoring the weird swoopy feeling in his gut, Steve touches the horn with a grin, and that grin only widens when Danny whips his head around to glare at him. Danny just saunters toward the car, slowly, while Steve taps his fingers impatiently against the wheel.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he calls out through the open window.

Undeterred, Danny opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he deadpans. “Some crazy person stole my car keys, I’m sure you understand.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Steve mutters under his breath, and he yelps when Danny socks him in the arm.

* * *

“So,” Danny says a few minutes later, shifting in his seat. “How’re things with Cath?”

Steve stiffens and doesn’t answer for a second, paying more attention than is necessary to the upcoming right turn. “Uh,” he starts, wondering how much to reveal. “It’s fine, I guess.”

The corners of Danny’s mouth turn down, and he nods slowly. “Wow. What a ringing endorsement for a relationship.”

Steve rolls his eyes and immediately deflects. “How about you, man?” he forces himself to ask, not sure why he really _doesn’t_ want to know the answer. “Any dates lately?”

Danny scoffs and waves one hand dismissively. “As if I have time for that. While you’re trying to save the citizens of Oahu, I’m too busy trying to save Oahu from _you_.”

Steve wonders for a second why that answer relaxes him—why it eases the tight knot in his gut—but before he can think about it too hard, their phones are ringing, Chin is on speakerphone reading out an address, and Steve is pulling a sharp u-turn and speeding toward a crime scene.

* * *

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Steve says, shaking the woman’s hand and stepping away from the group of HPD officers. In the Five-0 business, today had been a pretty good day. They’d dismantled a small heroin dealing ring, nobody got shot at, HPD showed up to process the end of it, and the sun hasn’t even dropped beyond the horizon yet. 

Steve spins around slowly until he spots Danny, sitting against a brick wall in a small patch of shade and holding a bag of ice to his eye. Steve winces—they’d gotten ambushed and Danny got a nasty punch to the face—and strides over to him.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting next to Danny. “How’s the eye?”

“Not too bad,” Danny answers, lowering the ice and squinting. “Way better than getting shot at.”

Steve grins. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“You know, you shouldn’t sound quite so smug. For most people, not getting their friends shot is a basic level of human decency that does not, in fact, warrant celebration.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No, you most certainly are not,” Danny says, tilting his head.

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, so he just reaches out to gently prod the skin around Danny’s eye, which is quickly turning purple.

“Hey, hey,” he complains, squirming away from Steve’s touch and batting at his hand. “That hurts, asshole.”

“That eye’s gonna be looking real bad in a couple days.”

Danny laughs weakly and reapplies the ice. “Don’t remind me, I’m going to scare Grace this weekend.”

“Got any plans?” Steve asks cautiously. Danny sometimes includes Steve in his weekends with Grace, and the frequency has been picking up lately. He loves nothing more than spending time with Grace—and Danny, a tiny voice in his head helpfully reminds him—but he’s always worried about intruding.

“Nothing yet,” Danny admits. “I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

“I’ll think of something,” Steve says confidently, and Danny just laughs.

“That _something_ better not be cliff diving or—or windsurfing off of dolphins.”

“It would be impossible to windsurf off a dolphin, Danno, where would you attach the sail?”

“You would find a way, I’m sure,” Danny says flatly.

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Steve asks as he stands. “There’s still pizza leftover from last night.”

“Is it only pineapple left?” Danny says, wrinkling his nose and looking up at Steve.

Steve laughs. “No, there’s pepperoni, I promise.”

“Okay, then, you convinced me,” Danny says, reaching his hand up.

Steve rolls his eyes but leans down to grasp Danny’s hand. Danny hauls himself up, and the solid strength that Steve can feel makes him swallow hard for some reason. He realizes he’s still holding Danny’s hand, so he drops it quickly and runs a hand over his head. Something’s going on with him today.

* * *

Steve rummages around in the fridge for the pizza and turns his head to talk to Danny. “I’ll just put the slices in the micro—”

“For fuck’s sake, Steven,” Danny interrupts, holding up a hand. “Please, _please_ , do not tell me that you were planning to reheat our pizza in the _microwave_.”

Steve turns slowly and tilts his head as he looks at Danny. “Um.”

“Seriously do you know _nothing_ about pizza? I understand that this is Hawaiian pizza,” Danny says, gesturing toward the box in Steve’s hand and wrinkling his nose, “and therefore it can never even dream of being half as good as pizza from Jersey, but we do not have to _insult_ it by microwaving it. Do you want to eat soggy pizza?”

“No?” Steve tries.

“No is the correct answer, congratulations,” Danny says with an exaggerated nod. “We are going to reheat this pizza in the oven like civilized adults.”

“But it’ll be better if we—”

“Don’t you argue with me on this, babe, don’t argue with me about pizza.” Danny punctuates his words with a sharp poke to Steve’s chest.

Steve rolls his eyes, then grabs Danny’s finger and twists it gently away from him. “I was _going_ to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, that we should just reheat it on the grill instead. It’ll heat up faster than the oven.”

Danny pauses, and his lower lip pokes out a little. “You sometimes have good ideas.”

Steve smirks and releases Danny’s finger. “You don’t say.”

“But I will most certainly be blaming you if this doesn’t work!” Danny calls over his shoulder as he swipes the pizza box from Steve and heads outside. Steve follows and stands in the lanai door, watching as Danny lights the grill.

“What are you staring at? Go make yourself useful and get some beer,” Danny says, making a shooing motion with both hands. “Please tell me you at least know _that_ rule.”

Steve goes off dutifully and returns with two open beers. He presses one into Danny’s hand as he joins him at the grill. “The rule that all pizza must be eaten with beer? Everyone knows that, come on.”

Danny barks out a laugh. “I have learned to make no assumptions about the gaps in your common sense knowledge, so pardon me for checking.”

Steve peers over Danny’s shoulder at the pizza now on the grill, but Danny swats him on the arm with a spatula. “Ah, ah. You clearly cannot be trusted with pizza, let me handle this.”

“But this was _my_ idea.”

Danny shakes his head vigorously. “Doesn’t matter. You wanted to microwave it, therefore you lost pizza-making privileges for the rest of your life.”

Steve concedes and sits down, propping his feet up on the table. “I never knew you had such strong opinions about this.”

Danny scoffs. “It can’t really come as a surprise.”

“Not really, no,” Steve says, smirking. “I hear about the rest of your opinions all damn day.” He’s not sure why, but for all of his bitching, Steve _likes_ to hear Danny’s opinion about things. He likes the energy.

“Well, not everybody is privy to the wisdom that is Danny Williams, so consider yourself lucky, my friend.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that besides _I do_ , so he keeps his mouth shut. And it’s only a couple minutes later that Danny, with a flourish, slides a plate of pizza in front of him.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “I will admit, this looks good.”

“It’s all about the crust, you gotta get it crispy. You microwave, you get mush.” Danny sits down and makes a fairly obscene noise as he starts eating.

“The grill is better, you win,” he says, though it’s mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. “You always win.”

“I always win?” Steve says, pointing at himself. “Could I get that in writing?”

Danny rolls his eyes and takes a long swallow of his beer. “I take it back. Your ego is large enough without any help from me.”

* * *

Long after the pizza is gone, they’re neck-deep into their third beers and have moved the chairs closer to the water.

“So,” Danny starts. “The conversation we had in the car this morning about Cath. What’s going on there?”

“Why do you want to know?” Steve asks, twisting in his seat to better see Danny.

Danny hesitates for a minute before responding. “I’m your friend. And we _emotionally-evolved_ members of the species like to talk about our feelings.”

“You like to talk about _everything_ ,” Steve says, pointing his beer bottle at Danny, who just shrugs.

“Maybe so,” he says with a grin, “but you’re deflecting.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve slumps down into his chair and pulls on his beer.

“And now you’re pouting,” Danny says with a laugh.

“Fine,” Steve says, throwing a hand up in the air. “It just…doesn’t really feel right.”

“Hmm,” Danny replies, knitting his eyebrows together. “Why?”

“I don’t really know,” Steve says. He doesn’t want to look at Danny for some reason, so he studies the bottle he’s rolling between his hands.

“Do you love her?”

Steve grimaces. “In a way, I think.”

Danny just raises his eyebrows at him, and Steve shifts in his chair. He thinks about how much he actually wants to say and for some reason feels compelled to continue. He eventually closes his eyes and tips his head back to rest against the chair. “I figure it’s probably the best I’m going to get.”

He waits there for a second, too cowardly to face Danny’s reaction—he’ll probably yell at him for being an asshole, which he wholly deserves—but when he doesn’t hear anything, Steve opens his eyes and turns his head. He’s shocked to see that instead of angry, Danny looks almost…sad? Resigned? The corners of his mouth are drawn down, and he seems needlessly fascinated by his own beer bottle.

“What do you mean by that?”

Danny’s quiet, _too_ quiet almost, and Steve is so thrown off-balance by the change that it takes him an extra second to respond. “I fully realize that I’m not an easy person to—deal with, I guess. I like Cath, and what we have is easy and it works. But I don’t, uh, I don’t really miss her when she’s gone, you know?”

Danny just nods.

“You’re being really quiet, and it’s kind of freaking me out,” Steve says honestly, partly just to fill the silence.

Danny laughs, but it sounds rough and humorless. “Sorry. I, uh, I don’t really know what to tell you, I guess. But that really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, stretching out the word. “I’ll figure it out.”

Or more likely, he thinks, he’ll keep going on this stagnant path.

“Wait,” Danny says suddenly, and Steve looks up at the strong tone of his voice. “Just—just don’t settle, okay? That’s not fair, you deserve better than that.”

Steve is a little stunned by the raw honesty he sees in Danny’s eyes, so he just nods and keeps his mouth shut for a minute.

“I thought of something you could do with Grace this weekend.”

Danny narrows his eyes as he points at him.

“Do not think I don’t recognize this for the abrupt change of topic that it is, because I do, and you are in no way subtle, my friend. But because you actually managed to talk about your feelings for 30 seconds without bursting into flames, I’ll be magnanimous and let it slide.”

“It was at least a minute,” Steve says with a twist of his mouth. But Danny appears mostly back to normal without that pained look in his eyes, so Steve is happy.

“Whatever you say, babe,” Danny says, eyes sparkling as he pulls on his beer. “Anyway. What is your brilliant idea? Please, just nothing with Kamekona flying a helicopter—my poor heart can’t take that again.”

“Kayaking,” Steve says, grinning. “If we leave from Lanikai, there’s a little island we can go to and it’s really pretty, I bet Grace would love it.”

“We?”

Steve winces a little, that damn knot in his chest back in full force. His gaze skitters over to Danny, but his eyes betray nothing. “No, I mean—”

Danny laughs, all fondness instead of teasing, and that knot unspools rapidly, leaving Steve with a different sort of ache. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Of course you should come. That actually sounds like it could be fun, I’ll even admit. It won’t be too hard for her?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Steve says, stretching his feet into the sand. “It’s about a 30-minute trip, if I remember right, and it’s not like she’ll be in a kayak by herself, anyway.”

“Saturday?”

“That’s good, you guys can just come over whenever. I’ll rent a kayak and we can take the truck.”


	2. You'll never find it wearing a life vest

Steve’s up in the bed of the truck, making sure that the kayak is strapped down securely, when he hears the low rumble of the Camaro pulling into the driveway. He hops down just in time to catch Grace as she runs at him and throws her arms around his waist.

“Uncle Steve!”

“Morning, Gracie,” he says as leans down to return her hug and drop a quick kiss on the top of her head. Steve raises a hand toward Danny as he comes around to the back of the truck. Danny’s in jean shorts—his usual beach attire no matter how much Steve needles him about it—and a tight, well-worn dark green t-shirt. But why can’t Steve seem to look away from his biceps?

“We’re really going kayaking? To a whole other island?”

Steve returns his attention to Grace, thankful for the distraction, and nods. “We sure are. Are you excited?”

“So excited! I’ve never been kayaking before.”

“I bet you’ll like it, it’s pretty fun. Are you guys ready to go?”

“I think so,” Danny says. “You need to go to the bathroom, monkey?”

Grace nods and runs off into the house, leaving Steve and Danny leaning against the truck.

“Nice eye, Danno,” Steve says, giving Danny a sideways glance and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Shit, don’t remind me,” Danny says as he reaches up automatically to touch his eye, which is still swollen and has morphed into a rather sickening purplish-green color. “I had to explain to Grace why some asshole punched her dad in the face.”

“It makes you look…rakish,” Steve says, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smirk.

“Rakish!” Danny bends forward at the waist, spreading his arms in mock astonishment. “Looks like somebody’s been stealing my word-of-the-day calendar.”

“Ha!” Steve says, pointing at Danny. “I knew you had one.”

“I admit nothing,” Danny says smoothly. “You only know that word because people use it to describe you, don’t you?”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Grace cheers as she joins them back out at the truck. “Do you have the food, Danno?”

“Oh, you guys didn’t have to bring lunch.” Steve mentally kicks himself for not thinking about that and watches Danny duck into the car before emerging with a small cooler.

“I made the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Grace says, looking up at him with a bright grin, and Steve can’t help but smile back.

“Sounds great, Grace Face, let’s go.”

* * *

“See those two islands?” Steve asks, squatting next to Grace in the sand and pointing off toward the horizon.

“Yeah! Is that where we’re going?”

“We sure are. We’re going to the one on the left, which is called Moku Nui. The smaller one to the right is Moku Iki, but people aren’t allowed on that one.”

“What do their names mean?”

“Big island and small island,” Steve says, and Grace laughs.

“Are you fu—freaking kidding me?” Danny says, shooting a guilty look toward Grace. “Hawaii has all these crazy names for places, and if it turns out they’re all as dumb as ‘small island’ and ‘big island,’ I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Yeah, these are admittedly not very creative,” Steve says.

“How do you say monkey in Hawaiian?” Danny asks, making Grace giggle as he tickles her.

“Keko.”

“Then we’re going to call it Moku Keko,” Danny says, his pronunciation a little clumsy, but Steve grins.

“You got it. Moku Keko, here we come.”

After they pile into the kayak and push off, Steve is a little surprised at how easily Danny cuts through the water with his paddling strokes, and he says as much.

“I have been kayaking before, I’ll have you know,” Danny calls out over his shoulder.

“But you don’t like the beach, and you don’t like to swim,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose.

“Does it _look_ like we’re on a beach?” Danny says, twisting to look back at Steve and gesturing widely at the ocean. “Or swimming, for that matter? I have no desire to get _in_ the water, but I’m perfectly happy on top of it.”

“But what about when we went out on the boat? You didn’t seem too happy then.”

“Well, Steven, that was probably because of, let’s see, the bad guys and the guns and the sharks and the _swimming_ ,” Danny says, his arms windmilling. “Oh! And how we almost got _arrested_ by the Coast Guard. Does that sound like fun happy times to you?”

Steve opens his mouth but Danny holds up a hand and plows on before he can get a word in edgewise. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m sure that sounds like your perfect day, you crazy person.”

Steve doesn’t really have anything to say to that because it _was_ a pretty fun day. You know, in hindsight.

Meanwhile, Grace, sitting between them, bursts into a fit of giggles.

“And what are you laughing at, miss?” Steve angles his paddle to splash her, just a little bit, and she laughs again and squirms away.

“You and Danno fight, it’s funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Danny grumbles, but he shoots a look over his shoulder to catch Steve’s eye and raises one eyebrow.

Steve isn’t quite sure what to do with that look, so he focuses on Grace instead. “The water is really clear out here, Grace. If you look hard, you might be able to see some fish.”

Grace’s eyes widen, and she immediately leans over the side of the kayak, searching intently. “Wow!” she says a couple minutes later, pointing down into the water. “Look at that one! It has so many colors, and it’s kind of shiny. What is it?”

Steve obediently identifies the parrotfish and they paddle the rest of the way to the island, with Grace looking over the side the entire time and Steve trying to remember everything he knows about Hawaiian fish.

“This is so cool,” Grace says after they reach the island, craning her neck to look around at the small beach and tall rocks.

“It is very cool, monkey,” Danny agrees. “Do you want to walk around, or do you want to eat first?”

“Let’s eat,” Grace decides. “I’m hungry.”

“Wow,” Steve says as he unwraps a sandwich and takes a bite, after they’ve found a small open patch of sand to sit on. “This tastes like childhood, though my mom used to make them with strawberry jelly.”

“Grape jelly is the only option for PB&J,” Grace says seriously, looking up at him with those big eyes.

“Wonder where you learned that from. Do you have an opinion about jelly, Danno?” Steve says innocently, and Danny holds up a hand as he swallows.

“Of course I do,” Danny says with a snort. “Grape jelly is classic, you don’t mess with classics.”

“Mmm,” Steve hums around another huge bite. “I might have to agree with you, this is really good.”

“Oh my god, stop talking with your mouth full, you Neanderthal,” Danny says, flicking at Steve’s ear. “You’re such a bad example.”

Steve rubs his ear and frowns mulishly, making Grace laugh.

“Thanks for doing this with us, Uncle Steve,” Grace says, ducking her head a little. “Danno told me it was your idea.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. And Danno must be having a good time, too, because he isn’t even complaining about the sand,” Steve says, and he and Grace both laugh when Danny scowls at him.

“Don’t get me started,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “Believe me, I _will_ be cursing you in the shower later as I try to get the sand out of the improbable places it will surely migrate to.”

Suddenly an image flashes through Steve’s head—Danny muttering Steve’s name in the shower—but he shoves that thought away as quickly as it came.

“Your tattoos are really cool, Uncle Steve,” Grace says, leaning a little closer to peer at his shoulder. “What are they?”

Steve doesn’t answer fast enough because Danny cuts him off before he can even open his mouth. “Nope, nope, nope,” he says, making a slashing motion near his neck. “Tattoos are _not_ cool, Grace, and you certainly aren’t allowed to get one until you’re 40, _at least_ , preferably never. And don’t go liking boys just because they have tattoos, either. Those boys are dangerous, and they’re reckless.”

“Hey,” Steve says with a hand on his chest, feigning insult, and Danny just rolls his eyes at him, shoves at his shoulder. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“Yes, one hundred percent,” Danny says with a firm nod. “You are the biggest threat to my sanity. And don’t even get me _started_ on your recklessness. Me? Perfectly sane, and no tattoos. Look at that.”

Steve scoffs. “That is a sample size of one, Danno, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sample size!” Danny repeats, throwing up his hands. “Steve the science guy is back, I guess.”

“And I wouldn’t exactly call you _sane_. That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Danny gasps, though his eyes are bright and lively, and he reaches to cover Grace’s ears. “Don’t you insult me in front of my daughter.”

“You always forget I can still hear you when you do that,” Grace says as she looks up at Danny, and he winces.

“It wasn’t an insult,” Steve assures her. “Danno always calls me crazy, too, so it must be a good thing, right?”

“I think so,” Grace says firmly, and then she jumps to her feet. “I’m ready to go! I want to explore.”

They pack up the rest of the food—those carrot sticks definitely had to be Grace’s doing—and start walking further inland beyond the beach.

“Don’t you dare suggest jumping off those rocks,” Danny says lowly, gesturing toward a tall cliff where a group of teenagers is gathered.

Steve frowns at him. “I wouldn’t, especially to Grace. The current can be rough around here.”

“Look at that, there’s at least one sane bone in your body,” Danny says, bumping Steve’s arm gently with his elbow. “We should mark the occasion.”

They hit a particularly rocky patch then, and Steve hauls Grace up under his arm, making her laugh wildly. When they reach softer ground, he sets her back down on her feet carefully and watches her run off ahead of them.

“You’re really great with her,” Danny says softly, and Steve turns toward him in surprise.

“Really?” He never really thought he was good with kids, but Grace makes it easy.

Danny just nods, and Steve doesn’t know quite what to say. There aren’t many things he likes more than spending time with Grace, and the praise from the best dad he knows…well, that’s pretty great.

“Thanks,” he says, finally, trying to convey how much Danny’s compliment meant to him. Danny turns his head to look at him, his eyes soft, and opens his mouth to say something, but Grace’s voice breaks their moment.

“Look at what I found!” Grace is standing several feet away, pointing down at a small tide pool, and Steve heads over to investigate. He spends the next several minutes crouched down with Grace, naming as many of the little sea animals as he can.

* * *

“You guys ready to head back?” Steve says as they pick their way back toward the beach.

“Can I sit in the front and paddle this time?” Grace asks, looking between Steve and Danny.

Steve nods. “We should have the wind with us on the way back, so it’ll be a little easier. You can stop anytime you get tired, okay?”

Grace nods, and after they all clamber back into the kayak, she hangs on Steve’s every word as he shows her the basics of how to paddle. 

“I gotta say, I could get used to this,” Danny says. He’s sitting sideways in the middle seat so he can see both Grace and Steve, and both of his arms are stretched out on the edge of the kayak. “Having the two of you ferry me around.”

Grace giggles and turns to look at him, temporarily abandoning her paddling duties. “Doesn’t Steve usually drive your car, Danno?”

“Oh, monkey,” Danny says with a groan, “you’re killing me here.”

Steve cracks up as Danny mock-scowls at his daughter. “Yeah, _Danno_ , you should be a little more appreciative.”

“You’re just upset because there aren’t any speed limits out here for you to break,” Danny shoots back, but he’s chuckling, too, and Steve just grins harder.

Grace holds up pretty well, but as they approach Lanikai, she stretches her arms and admits that she’s tired.

“No problem, Grace Face,” Steve says, smiling at her. “You’ve done a great job.”

“Do you want me to help?” Danny asks, mimicking paddling with his arms.

Steve shakes his head. “Nope, you two relax. We’re pretty close, I can take us the rest of the way.”

Soon enough they’re washing up to the beach at Lanikai, and Danny hops out to help Steve haul the kayak up onto the sand.

“Can we swim for a little bit, Danno?” Grace asks. “This beach is so pretty.”

Danny nods. “You two go have fun, I’ll stay up here with the kayak.”

Grace cheers and grabs Steve by the hand to tug him back down to the water. He yanks his shirt off with his other hand and tosses it at Danny’s head, laughing as he catches it with an affronted look on his face.

“Do you think we can get Danno in the water?” Grace asks, and Steve grins at the devious look on her face.

“I bet we can. What do you have in mind?”

A few minutes later Grace is standing high on Steve’s shoulders, holding on tight to his outstretched hands.

“Danno!” she calls out. “Look!”

Steve can’t see Danny—he’s too busy looking up at Grace and ensuring that he stays exactly under her—but he can tell Danny is coming in the water, likely just getting closer to yell at him properly, exactly as Grace had predicted.

When Danny is only a few feet from them, Grace jumps off, landing with a loud splash. Steve ducks down under the water, too, and gives Danny’s ankle a sharp tug before sidling away. Danny comes up sputtering a few seconds later, and Steve laughs from a safe distance.

Danny pounces on Grace and tosses her in the air as she giggles madly. _I’m going to kill you_ , he mouths over her head, pointing at Steve.

“It was all your daughter’s idea,” Steve says, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands.

“You’re going to blame my sweet, precious daughter?”

“Yes,” Steve says with a straight face, and then he and Grace proceed with their plan to splash the ever-living daylights out of Danny.

Eventually Danny calls a truce and they all trudge out of the water and plop onto the sand. Danny strips off his shirt and flings it at Steve, who grimaces and peels the heavy, dripping shirt off his face.

“Oh, whoops,” Steve says, deadpan, as he drops the wet shirt into the sand.

“You—” Danny sputters, clearly searching for a word that will express his displeasure toward Steve and yet is appropriate enough to say in his daughter. “Jerk. You’re such a jerk.”

“That’ll teach you to go swimming with a shirt,” Steve says with a shrug.

* * *

They’re packing up the truck when two young women walk by, balancing surfboards under their arms, and Grace’s face lights up.

“Ooh!” she exclaims, whirling around to look at Danny. “Surfing! Danno, you’ve been saying I could _forever_. Steve, will you teach me?”

Steve laughs and nods. “Of course I will, Gracie. But I think it’s your dad you need to convince,” he says, tilting his head toward Danny.

Danny rocks back on his heels, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He frowns a little and turns to look at Steve. “How safe is it, really?”

“Very safe,” Steve says softly, ducking his head down toward Danny. “Especially because we’ll start on my beach, where there aren’t many waves. Just the basics at first.”

“Okay,” Danny relents. “Next weekend you can go surfing with Steve.”

Grace grins and she flings herself at Danny. “Thank you, Danno,” she says, and he laughs as he wraps his arms around her.

Steve watches from the side, smiling and trying to ignore the warm feeling spreading through his chest. He doesn’t do a very good job of it, though, and he relents when he sees Danny still scowling at his wet, sandy t-shirt.

“My shirt is dry, you can wear that.”

“I sure will, just to get you back for that little stunt you pulled. Make you into some Hawaiian cliché, driving your pickup truck around without a shirt on.”

“I don’t really mind, Danno,” Steve says with a sunny smile as he swings into the driver’s seat.

“Menace,” Danny mutters under his breath. “You’re going to cause car accidents.”

* * *

“Thanks for today,” Danny says, locking eyes with Steve and clinking the necks of their bottles together. “Really, I mean it.”

Steve waits for a beat, holding Danny’s gaze, and finally just replies with, “you’re welcome.”

Grace is safely ensconced on the couch, watching a movie, and Steve and Danny are sitting outside and enjoying the late afternoon breeze. Danny works a hand through his hair, which has dried into a tousled, puffy mess, and for some reason Steve finds it endearing.

“Stan and Rachel give her a lot,” Danny says, shifting his gaze to the horizon. “Which is great, of course, but it means a lot to me to be able to give her something new, something she hasn’t done before. And that makes me sound petty, but whatever.”

“You don’t sound petty,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It sounds perfectly normal for a dad to want to do that.”

“And remember what Grace said earlier?” Danny says quietly, looking down at his beer bottle.

Steve just knits his eyebrows together, tilts his head, and so Danny continues.

“About us fighting,” Danny clarifies, and Steve nods. “It’s just—Rachel and I used to fight _all_ the time. We tried to hide it from Grace, and she was young, but…”

Steve winces. “God, Danny, I never even thought about that, I’m so—”

“No, no,” Danny says quickly. “It’s—I mean, I know Grace is great.”

“She’s perfect,” Steve interrupts, and Danny flashes a quick grin.

“She _is_ perfect, thank you. But I’ve always worried that, you know, with all the fighting, we, we—ruined her or fundamentally screwed her up or something. But she said she thinks us fighting is _funny_. I’ve always worried that because of the divorce, I’m a terrible father.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve says strongly, because _no_. “You are a wonderful father.”

Danny gives a half-hearted chuckle and doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Well—”

“No, I’m serious, Danny, don’t let yourself doubt that. You are the _best_ father, it’s like my favorite thing about you.”

The second the words are out of Steve’s mouth, he freezes. Oh shit. Something about what he said—it just released all these, these _things_ in him that he can barely even think through right now.

“Steve? Steve?”  

He finally hears Danny saying his name and snaps back to attention, blinking and trying furiously to harness the thoughts running through his head.

“Where’d you go? You okay?” One of Danny’s eyebrows is raised, and he’s looking at Steve a little strangely.

Steve tries to smile, though he can tell it’s wobbly. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

Danny’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth.

“Danno!”

Both of their heads swivel toward the house to see Grace standing in the doorway. “Mom’s on the phone for you, Danno.”

Danny groans under his breath and levers himself up out of the chair.

* * *

As soon as he closes the door behind Grace and Danny, Steve braces himself against it and takes a deep breath. The pressure of having to hold himself together is suddenly gone, and he lets himself sift through all the thoughts he forced away earlier.

All of a sudden it hits him, as sudden and as forceful as a punch in the gut, and Steve slides down the door numbly until he’s sitting on the hard ground of his entryway, elbows on his knees. He can practically hear all the clues slotting neatly into place, and it feels just like making a break in a case. Suddenly everything just…fits, and the facts practically line themselves up faster than he can even think through them.

He likes Danny.

And as he thinks about it, it seems so _obvious_ and he feels so _stupid_. How could he not have noticed? God, it all makes sense. He’s happier when he’s around Danny. He’s fucking elated when he’s around Danny _and_ Grace. He vows to never, ever tell Danny how long it took for him to reach this conclusion. (And then he chokes out a sharp, humorless laugh—as if he will ever _tell_ Danny any of this.) Because it’s a little bit embarrassing for somebody who’s as smart as Steve. He can practically hear Danny making some crack about his lack of emotional intelligence, and—oh my god, Steve is actually _smiling_. At nothing, just thinking about Danny. When did he turn into this person? This relaxed person who just wants to stare at Danny and think about him…think about those tan forearms and how nice he looks in those tight shirts. Steve’s like a fucking teenager with his first crush. At least this explains all the weird reactions he’s been having to random parts of Danny’s body, but he has to shove those thoughts away for the moment before they become too overwhelming. To be honest, these feelings aren’t alien to Steve, though he certainly thought they were dormant, probably gone for good.

He’d been sixteen the first time he realized that his sexual interests might go beyond breasts and curves and soft skin. But Steve was too busy with football and the “death” of his mother to ever really act on it, and then he was headed off to Annapolis, where DADT had just taken effect. He saw how everyone talked about and treated people like that—people who felt like Steve sometimes did—and he was not about to jeopardize his burgeoning Navy career for something that he wasn’t even sure was real. So Steve carefully stuffed those feelings into a little mental box, locked it, and managed to mostly forget about it. Luckily, he also enjoys the company of women, enough so to earn his Smooth Dog nickname. (Which was not given ironically, no matter what Danny seems to think.)

And now, for the first time in his adult life, Steve is forced to confront the fact that he is attracted to a man. A man who is his best friend, his partner and (technical) subordinate, and by all accounts, straight as an arrow.

Fuck.


	3. Keep my head dry and get my feet wet

Steve leans back in his chair, swings his feet up on the desk, and closes his eyes. Time to recap. He knows now that he’s attracted to Danny. Which is surprising, to be sure, but he’s trying to roll with it. He really thought those feelings were long gone, though that’s what he gets for trying to suppress biology, he supposes. What he _doesn’t_ know is two-fold.

First, what he actually wants. Does he just want to have sex with Danny? His dick certainly thinks so, that’s for sure. (He winces, thinking back to this morning. He had jerked off in the shower, per usual, and it was nearly impossible to keep his brain from straying to Danny. He really tried, though, since the thoughts are too new to really feel comfortable—plus for some reason it makes Steve feel a bit like a creeper.)

Or does he want a…relationship? The word practically makes Steve cringe. He has lived his whole adult life figuring that his only long-term relationship would be with the Navy, and he had pretty much come to terms with that a while ago. Now he’s possibly considering a relationship with a _man_ , and it’s predictably turning his world view on its head a bit. But Steve is nothing if not quickly adaptable to changing circumstances, and he’s trying to apply those skills here. He’s not sure how he feels about this whole thing in the abstract, so he’s trying to focus on the concrete details.

Which means: Danny. He has given no indication that he is nothing but straight, as far as Steve can tell. He has a fair bit of experience with closeted guys—Steve never asked and he sure as hell never told, but he definitely noticed—and he’s pretty good at sussing them out. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever gotten an “interested” vibe from Danny, but…Danny is _friendly_. He touches Steve, a lot, and if Steve tilts his head and squints, maybe some of their bantering could be seen as flirting in a different light? Maybe that means something, or maybe Danny is just like that with all of his friends?

Or maybe Steve just needs to do a little reconnoitering. He’s a fucking SEAL, right? He can manage a covert crush op without the object of his affection finding out, even if said object is a detective. No problem. So with a sharp nod, Steve stands. As soon as you have your plan, you attack. 

He strides down the hall to Danny’s office and takes a deep breath. Just pull it off like a Band-Aid, he thinks, as he pokes his head in the door.

“Hey. You wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

“Sure,” Danny says easily, with a shrug. “What’s the occasion?”

Fuck. They usually don’t make plans in advance—more often it’s a casual invitation at the end of the day—so it makes sense that Danny would be curious about the change. It’s only Steve’s ability to think fast on his feet that saves him.

“The Jets are on Monday Night Football tonight,” he says, thankful that Danny mentioned it offhand earlier in the day. “And I’d like to be able to rub it in, in person, when they lose.”

Danny scowls and points at Steve. “Asshole. Just for that, you have to provide the beer.”

“Great.” Steve nods and lightly raps his fist against Danny’s door frame. “See you tonight then, at seven.”

* * *

 

Thanks to his unexpected realization the other day, this morning Steve acted like a fucking coward and begged off of carpooling with Danny, making up some excuse about having to run an errand before work. But at least now he’s free to stop by the store on his way home and get ready for his…information-gathering dinner.

He has no plans to make a _move_ of any kind. But he’s thinking he might just be a little bit more forward, a little bit more observational, and try to see if he can pick up anything about Danny’s reactions that might give him any clues.

Steve continues to think things through as he prepares dinner. He wants to make dinner nice, but not  _too_  nice—he’d like to keep the option of plausible deniability open, and he doesn’t want Danny to be suspicious. Steve usually just grills steaks when they have dinner, but for tonight he picked up some ahi. It’ll only take a few minutes to cook, so he’ll wait until Danny gets here.

He smiles as he throws together a simple pineapple salsa to go with it. He knows Danny will bitch about it, but it’ll be good with the fish and Steve’s curious if he’ll actually eat it. Then he checks the time—half an hour to go, so Steve sticks several beers in the freezer to get them super-cold and heads upstairs for a shower.

By the time he’s ready, it’s still quarter to seven, and Steve is _wired_. He needs something to do instead of fretting about tonight, so he channels his mindless energy and cleans the grill. And then the kitchen.

But 7:00 passes, and then so does 7:05, 7:10.

Steve frowns and fumbles for his phone. Had Danny texted him during his cleaning frenzy? He stares down at his phone, with no notifications to speak of, then the realization hits him, and his heart clenches.

Danny  _knows_.

He must have figured out somehow that Steve intended this to be (maybe?) more than their regular beers-and-take-out get-togethers, and now he’s not coming.

As 7:30 approaches, Steve goes back and forth for several minutes about whether he should call Danny. His pride tells him not to, but eventually he caves. The phone rings twice before going to voicemail, and Steve curses loudly. So now Danny’s avoiding his calls, too. Fuck. How are they ever going to get passed this?

Steve moves slowly, the anticipation and energy of the evening long gone, and packs up the food. He wraps up the ahi steaks, as far away from hungry as he could be. He’ll go for a beer, though, and he takes one out to the lanai where he can drink in peace and feel sorry for himself for a little while.

* * *

It’s after eight and his beer is gone when his phone finally rings, but his heart sags when it’s not Danny, just a number he doesn’t recognize.

“McGarrett,” he snaps. If this is a case and he has to go work with Danny right now, he’s going to be pissed.

“Commander McGarrett, I’m calling from Queen’s Medical Center,” the voice says, and suddenly Steve can barely breathe, his chest is so tight. “There was a pileup on the H1, and Detective Danny Williams was injured. You’re listed as his emergency contact, and—”

“How is he?” Steve asks, already up and halfway to the door and scrambling for his keys. “What’s his condition?”

“He’s in critical condition, sir.”

Steve freezes—it’s like he’s been doused with cold water, so much so that he actually experiences a brief flashback to BUD/S training. He shakes that off but still can’t manage to speak, so he doesn’t even answer the man on the phone, instead he just hangs up and proceeds to haul ass to his truck.

Steve drives completely on autopilot, thankful that the sirens and the lights do a pretty good job of clearing the way for him. He has many years of experience in keeping a cool head in stressful situations, but Steve has no idea where that training went because right now he feels like he’s going to fucking die. His heart is just about beating out of his chest, he can’t really feel his limbs, and there is definitely not enough air in his lungs as he takes short, rapid breaths. All he knows is what’s playing on a loop in his head— _critical condition_ ,  _critical condition_ , _critical condition_ —and he presses down on the gas harder.

He pulls into a parking spot at the front—a couple of spots, actually, he’ll deal with it later and pull the Five-0 card if he needs to—before rushing into the ER. As soon as Steve enters the room, he hears his name and whirls around to see a nurse with a pained look on his face. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that is _not_ a good look.

“Commander McGarrett,” the man says, and Steve has to close his eyes—he cannot look at this guy while he says whatever he has to say. “I’m so sorry—”

“What?” Steve grits out. God, this guy has to just get to the fucking point.

“I gave you the incorrect information over the phone. Detective Williams is not in critical condition; that was another patient. He’s going to be fine.” 

Steve opens his eyes as for the second time in about 20 minutes, his world stops spinning, and he has to lean against the wall a little.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he manages to get out. Steve can’t really hear himself over the roaring in his ears, so he has no idea if he’s whispering or yelling. But going by the startled look on the nurse’s face, he’s guessing it was closer to a yell. “Sorry, I—uh...”

Steve knows he should apologize or yell some more or say  _something_ , but there are no words in his head, just a fuzzy sensation and some black spots.

* * *

Steve blinks, and his eyes slowly focus on three unfamiliar faces above him, haloed by the harsh fluorescent light of the ER.

_Fuck_ , he passed out. How embarrassing.

“Commander?”

He’s still on the floor, so he wasn’t out more than probably a minute, thank god. Steve nods and tries to stand, but about four hands reach for him and help him into a sitting position instead.

“Just take it easy,” one of the nurses says. “You hit your head pretty hard when you fell.”

Steve quickly assesses the situation—just a little headache, but no nausea and no dizziness, so concussion—but then it hits him why he’s here, and he’s scrambling to stand up again.

“I really just need to see my partner,” he says, but again he’s pushed back down.

“No, sir, you need to sit here for just a second,” another nurse says firmly. The guy who caused all this is thankfully nowhere to be seen—thankful for him, anyway, because it would do Steve a lot of good to punch something right about now.

But instead Steve sits there dutifully, grits his teeth, and lets the nurses check his vitals, ask him a few questions, and shine lights into his eyes. They _finally_ pronounce him uninjured and promise to send someone to get him when Danny’s ready for a visitor, so Steve sits and waits.

He texts Kono and Chin, telling them that Danny’s in the hospital and that he’ll pass along more information when he has it. He thinks about calling Rachel, but just when he’s in the middle of considering it, he’s interrupted.

“Commander McGarrett?” 

Steve’s head shoots up as he looks around. He spots a kindly-looking older woman and tries to smile as he stands up.

“Detective Williams is right down here,” she says, leading them down a hallway. “He’s awake, and he’s going to be fine. Minor injuries and a little concussion.”

Steve nods. “When is he going to be able to go home?”

“Sometime in the morning, if all goes well. And visiting hours are technically over,” she says quietly, with her hand on the door, “but I like to make exceptions for family.”

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Just let him rest, okay?” she says, patting Steve on the shoulder as he opens the door, and he nods again.

As Steve enters the room and makes his way over to the bed, Danny’s eyes flutter open immediately.

“Hey,” Danny says, and he sounds more than a little groggy. “You’re here.”

“Course I’m here,” Steve says, dragging a chair over and dropping down onto it. “Where else would I be?”

“Well, I stood you up for dinner, so I figured…”

“Yeah, but you had a pretty good reason,” Steve says, shrugging and trying to smile, “so I’ll probably let it go.”

Danny laughs weakly. “That’s very magnanimous of you babe, thanks.”

“How’re you feeling?” Steve says, sweeping a critical eye over Danny. He’s covered in bandages of all sizes, including a large one on his head.

Danny groans and lets his head fall back against the pillow. “Like I got run over by a truck. Which is alarmingly close to what actually happened.”

Steve swallows hard and makes himself ask. “What happened? Do you remember anything?”

Danny winces and shakes his head. “Not too much. I vaguely remember being hit on the passenger side and spinning, but that’s about it. I whacked my head against something in the car, so I have that to thank for the concussion.”

“Were there other people injured?”

“I was in and out when the ambulances came, but I think there were several cars. Fucking drunk driver, someone said.”

Steve clenches his jaw and nods. Starting tomorrow, the Five-0 jurisdiction is expanding to drunk driving so they can take care of this asshole.

“This is the worst part,” Danny says as he gingerly lifts his hand, heavily bandaged and braced, from under the blankets. “Got a strained shoulder on this side, plus I sprained several fingers and my wrist. So my dominant hand is basically useless for a little while.”

Steve grimaces. He knows from experience how limiting that is. “That’s gonna be tough. But fuck, Danno, you were really lucky.”

Danny blows out a breath and closes his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

It’s quiet for a couple minutes until Danny speaks again.

“What if Grace had been with me?” he says, barely loud enough for Steve to hear him. He’s blinking furiously.

“Hey, hey,” Steve says, scooting his chair closer and leaning down to grab Danny’s hand. “You can’t think that way, man, you just can’t.”

“But I got hit on the passenger side, and she could’ve—” He chokes out a single sob and grips Steve’s hand harder.

“She’s fine, Danno, Grace is fine,” Steve repeats, trying to ignore the tiny pinpricks he can feel in his own eyes. “And you’re fine. Just try to relax.”

Danny nods, eyes closed, and takes a deep breath. They sit there for a few minutes, with Steve keeping an eagle eye on Danny as he tries to regulate his breathing.

“Hello, Detective Williams,” a nurse says brightly as she bursts into the room, and Steve springs away from Danny, dropping his hand and standing up to give the nurse—who he recognizes as one of the ones who helped him—more room. “How are you feeling?”

“My headache has downgraded from jackhammers to a stampede of elephants,” Danny answers, and Steve hides a smile.

“Well, that’s progress, I’d say,” the nurse says, unperturbed. And then she turns toward Steve. “And Commander McGarrett, how are you feeling?”

Steve winces and nods at her, trying to play it off and praying she won’t get into specifics. “Just fine, thank you.”

“And what about your bump? How’s your headache?”

She moves over to him and reaches up to poke and prod at the small bump on the back of his head, but he sidles away and runs a hand over his hair. He smiles tightly at her, and she narrows her eyes in response but seems to take the hint and moves away.

Steve pointedly does not look at Danny as the nurse continues her examination, though he knows better than to hope that Danny won’t bring it up. His karma is not that good.

“So when am I going to get out of here?” Danny asks, wincing as she looks at his wrist. “Not that this isn’t great, of course, being woken up every hour.”

“Sometime in the morning, I think,” she says as she studies one of the various beeping machines surrounding Danny’s bed and makes a few notes on his chart. “They’ll want to run a few more tests in a while to make sure no internal injuries have emerged. And sorry about all the wake-ups, but there’s nothing we can do about that. Standard concussion protocol.”

“Sadly, I’m well aware of those protocols, thanks to this one,” Danny says, waving his hand toward Steve.

“Mmm,” she says knowingly, pressing her lips together and nodding. “Well, I’ll see you in about an hour, Detective. Call if you need anything.”

Sure enough, as soon as the door closes behind the nurse, Danny fixes him with a look.

“Steven,” Danny says evenly. “Why is the nurse asking about a  _bump_  on your head?”

Steve mumbles a little and prays for any kind of interruption.

“Sorry, I’m sure _the ground_ could hear you, but I didn’t quite catch that,” Danny snaps. “Out with it, McGarrett, c’mon.”

“I, uh, passed out in the ER,” Steve says, ducking his head and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Just a little.”

Danny’s eyes widen dramatically, and it would be funny if Steve weren’t so embarrassed. “What the fuck happened?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “When the nurse called, he told me that you were in critical condition. Then when I got here, he said he screwed up and that you were actually fine, and I...yeah,” Steve says, then he realizes that he’s gesturing with his hands and hurries to stuff them in his pockets.” Just for a minute though.”

Danny’s silent for a minute, just blinking those big blue eyes, and Steve’s ears feel hot.

“Come here,” Danny demands, and fuck if Steve doesn’t just move right on over next to him. “Let me see.”

Steve bends down dutifully and lets Danny rifle though his hair, grimacing a little when his fingers skid across the sore spot. 

“Are you okay?” Danny asks as he prods around the small bump.

Steve nods. “Just a little headache, I promise. They did all the tests, no concussion.”

“Not surprising, considering your head is so damn hard,” Danny says.

Steve laughs lightly, then realizes he’s still bent down and Danny still has a hand in his hair. He straightens up quickly and settles back down in the chair.

“You should, uh, rest,” Steve says, mostly managing not to stammer. “Before they come wake you up again.”

“Yeah,” Danny says with a sigh, letting his hand fall back down onto the bed. “You’re probably right. You should go home.”

“Nah,” Steve says easily. “Gotta stand watch and make sure you don’t spring yourself out of here overnight.”

Danny snorts. “I’m sorry, are you confusing me with you? I actually enjoy following doctors’ advice, unlike other people in this room.”

“You never know,” Steve says, shrugging. “I might be rubbing off on you.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” Danny says, and his eyes fall closed as he nestles down further in the blankets. “Just try not to pass out anymore, okay?”

Danny is asleep after about three breaths, and Steve finally feels like he can exhale. He realizes that his knee is bouncing, and he takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to quiet his mind. He should have calmed down by now—after all, he knows Danny’s going to be okay. So why does his heart still feel like it’s about to beat out of his chest?

Steve has unfortunately been in this scenario before, in the hospital with Danny, but this feels different somehow, and he doesn’t think it’s just because of his burgeoning feelings. Steve is confident that he can back Danny up in the field because he’s got about two decades of training and experience to do so. But he can’t protect him from _accidents_ , and that’s flat-out terrifying.

He’d really rather not think about that right now, though, so instead he digs his phone out of his pocket and texts Chin.

**Danny’s going to be fine, he’s banged up and has a minor concussion. But he’s being released in the morning.**

_Great news. I talked to HPD—there were no fatalities, and the drunk driver has already been booked. They also have the Camaro, it should be fixed in a few days._

**Mahalo. Could you update Kono?**

_Will do, brah._

Steve props his feet up at the end of Danny’s bed, careful not to dislodge any wires, and tries to let the steady beep of the machines—the machines that say Danny’s alive—lull him to sleep. But he doesn’t have much luck and instead finds himself staring at the ceiling.

There isn’t much around to distract him right now, and he can’t seem to stop his thoughts from returning to the accident. A fucking _drunk driver_ , god. Every day they all deal with the scum of the earth, people who are actively trying to hurt them. Steve’s not comfortable with that, obviously, but at least they’re all trained and have more than a fighting chance. This…this is just plain shitty luck, and it’s an unwelcome realization for Steve about how quickly everything can be taken away.

* * *

Steve never does get a wink of sleep over the next few hours. The nurses wake Danny up every hour, as promised, and Danny is able to fall back asleep each time but Steve never does. He needs to do something productive, and sitting here wallowing in his thoughts and listening to Danny breathe is only making him crazy.

So Steve snags a piece of paper and a pen from a nurse and writes Danny a quick note, just saying that he’ll be back in the morning to pick him up. Then he folds it and with a chuckle, scrawls _Danno_ across the front. Maybe this will at least induce a little Danny rant later. Steve leaves the letter right next to the bed, where Danny won’t be able to miss it, and slips out of the room.

* * *

Steve drums his fingers against the steering wheel as he drives through the deserted streets. He’s decided that Danny needs to come live with him for a few days—losing the use of your dominant hand renders you pretty much useless for lots of things, and Danny could use the help. Danny might be pissed, but Steve figures that if he already has his stuff, there will be a limit to how much he complains. Or so Steve hopes.

He takes the familiar route to Danny’s apartment and lets himself in with his key. Steve feels a little awkward going into Danny’s bedroom, but he goes in anyway and chuckles when he sees the room. The bed is made, though rumpled, and there are several clean shirts scattered across the bed.

Steve finds a duffle bag in the closet and quickly collects a few days’ worth of clothes, mostly sweats and t-shirts. He does stuff a couple of button-down shirts in there—because he knows Danny will bitch incessantly if he doesn’t—but under no circumstances is he bringing ties. Danny will just have to deal. It only takes a few more minutes for Steve to gather Danny’s toiletries, and he manfully resists the urge to conveniently “forget” his hair gel.

Steve locks up carefully and heads back to his house. Thanks to the preparation for his “date,” the house is clean and the fridge is stocked, so there isn’t much he has to do to be ready for company. He cleans up the guest room, changing the sheets and dusting the surfaces, and unpacks the bag from Danny’s.

It’s still too early for Steve to head to the hospital, but there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep. Time for a swim, then.

* * *

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Danny says as soon as Steve walks into his room, holding up the offending piece of paper. “Another  _Dear Danno_ letter?”

“Good morning to you, too, Daniel,” Steve says with a grin. “I thought you’d appreciate the humor. Tragedy plus time equals comedy, right?”

“Well, at least you admit that running off to god-knows-where and only leaving a note is in fact _tragedy_. So that’s progress.”

“I’m confirming nothing,” Steve says smoothly. “You need some help with that?”

Danny, who has been fumbling with his button-down, frowns. “I’m fine, it’s just my damn shoulder.”

“These will be easier,” Steve says, handing over a t-shirt and a pair of Danny’s sweatpants.

“Wait, why do you have my clothes?” Danny asks, shirt forgotten.

“Oh, you’re coming to stay with me for a few days, so I went to get some of your stuff.”

“Mm, I’m sorry, _what_ now?”

“Don’t even argue with me,” Steve says firmly. “You’re not very mobile right now, and it’ll be easier this way. Plus, you’d do the same for me.”

“Fine,” Danny says. “But I’m not sleeping on that goddamn couch, I demand a bed this time.”

Steve manages to keep certain thoughts—thoughts about _which_ bed he’d like Danny in—safely contained in his own head and merely nods.

Eventually Danny finishes getting dressed, signs the release paperwork, gets a lecture from the doctor—“watch out for infections, take it very easy for a few days, you’re on desk duty for a couple weeks”—and Steve wheels him out to the front entrance.

Danny sees the truck and gasps.

“Oh god, the Camaro,” he says with a grimace. He turns to Steve. “I almost don’t want to know.”

“She’s fine,” Steve says, grabbing Danny’s good arm to help him get out of the wheelchair and into the truck. “Chin said HPD has her, and she’ll be good-as-new in a few days.”

“Thank god. Not that this altar to masculinity isn’t nice, of course.”

“Uh, the Camaro is pretty masculine.”

“Obviously,” Danny says with a scoff. “The Camaro is a hot car, don’t get me wrong, but it’s masculine in a _classy_ way. This is just…overcompensation.”

Steve resists the urge to comment and just starts driving toward his house.


	4. I've been letting you lead me toward the deep end

“Not an invalid here,” Danny grumbles as Steve helps him out of the truck.

On the route from the hospital to Steve’s house, Danny had been mostly quiet, with a few half-hearted rants about how various parts of his body hurt. Steve wisely did not comment on Danny’s one-handed gesturing.

“Sure you’re not,” Steve says, trying to sound sincere. It’s a little difficult when Danny more than halfway resembles a petulant child, complete with the sweatpants, the messy hair, and the deep pout.

“Stop placating me, Steven,” Danny says, and his scowl deepens. “Seriously, cut it out and shut the fuck up.”

Steve steps back, arms raised, and follows as Danny slowly makes his way up to the door. Steve leads him up the stairs—though a death stare from Danny keeps him from grabbing his elbow again—and into the guest room he’s prepared.

“Wow,” Danny says, his eyes wide as he looks around. “You really did get all my stuff. Thanks, babe.”

Steve just nods and watches as Danny pokes around with his good arm, finding his things tucked into the drawers.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, and Steve frowns. “Being injured makes me act like an ass, but this—this is really nice. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Steve says easily, as if he would invite just any ol’ injured friend to stay with him. Yeah, right.

“I’m going to, uh, sleep, if that’s okay. My head is killing me, and I barely slept at all last night.”

“Sure. You need anything?” Steve says, his hand on the door frame.

“Could you, uh, help me with my shirt?” Danny says, his cheeks a little pink. “Sorry, it’s just hard with my shoulder.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Steve says with a nod as he steps into the room. Thankfully he’s well-versed in keeping his emotions off his face.

Steve steps up to Danny and grabs the hem of his shirt, fixing his gaze safely on his own hands. He lifts it up slowly to minimize the amount of jostling for Danny, but the pace just makes Steve feel more on edge, like he’s accidentally infusing this moment with sexual tension. Danny grunts then, and while Steve is sure it’s due to the pain, his dick sure as hell doesn’t seem to know that.

Finally the shirt is mostly off, and Steve carefully tugs it over Danny’s head and off his outstretched arms. He’s doing a good job of _not_ looking at the skin being revealed, but he can’t help catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye.

“Ow,” Danny says as he lowers his arms. “Thanks.”

“Anything else?” Steve asks, and he’s maybe more proud than he should be that his voice sounds normal. Meanwhile, he’s conveniently holding the shirt in front of his crotch. “You need those pain pills they gave you?”

“Nah, those make me feel like shit. Advil?” Danny asks hopefully.

“Yeah, sure, just a sec,” Steve says, thankful to escape the room and do something besides try to avoid staring at Danny’s chest. He returns a minute later with the pills and a glass of water and sees that Danny has already climbed between the sheets, and he hasn’t bothered to put on another shirt. Steve’s heart clenches at the sight of him, all that bare skin looking tan against the white sheets, and he’s happy that his hand doesn’t shake as he hands over the water.

“Thanks,” Danny says with a wince as he reaches over to take the pills. “Please don’t get into any trouble while I’m asleep.”

Steve just huffs out a laugh and leaves the room, stopping outside the door to take a deep breath and run his hand over his head. A nap sounds pretty good to him, too—Steve needs to be at the top of his game to avoid letting anything slip about his feelings for Danny. A continued lack of sleep will only lower his defenses, and who knows what he’ll say or do. Probably something stupid like smell Danny’s hair or squeeze his ass.

Steve pauses just inside his bedroom, shedding his pants and shirt, and then slides gratefully into bed. God, he _is_ like a teenager. One glimpse at Danny’s chest and torso, and he’s half-hard. Granted, it was a very nice view—Danny’s so strong, all those muscles covered in a lovely layer of soft-looking hair.

Steve lets his hand drift down his body but stops as he reaches his hip. No, he most definitely cannot jerk off to thoughts about his straight best friend, _especially_ when said straight best friend is currently sleeping in the next room.

With a frustrated growl, Steve flips over onto his stomach and closes his eyes. Shit, an orgasm would really help him fall asleep right about now.

* * *

Steve hasn’t been asleep long and is in the middle of a  _very_ nice dream when a loud grunt punctures his subconscious, sounding too loud to be in his dream. He sits up immediately, the sheets pooling around his waist, and is incredibly disoriented to see Danny, still shirtless, standing in his open doorway. His head is still halfway in his dream, in which Danny was enthusiastically on his knees and making some of those same noises that woke Steve. Then his head clears, and he blushes furiously when he realizes that his mouth is hanging open.

“Danno,” Steve says, and he clears his throat. He shifts carefully under the covers and takes a covert look down—good, can’t see his erection. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just banged my arm on something,” Danny says, looking more than a little flustered himself. “I didn’t mean to wake you—I was surprised to see you asleep.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night, either,” Steve says. He lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck and feels almost like he’s outside of himself, watching them have this strange conversation while they’re both shirtless and half-asleep. Well, with the way Danny seems sort of dazed, he’s assuming he’s still half-asleep, too.

It’s shadowy in the hall, and the dappled light emphasizes the lines of Danny’s abs. Steve manages to drag his eyes away and hopes that the muted light disguises his gaze. God, this feels dangerous.

“I’m just gonna, uh,” Steve says awkwardly, jerking his thumb back toward his pillow, and that seems to shake Danny out of his haze.

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” Danny says. “I’ll just—close this.” Danny gives an aborted half-wave thing and closes the door, and Steve can hear him go back into his room and close that door, too.

Steve flops back down on the bed and scrubs at his face with his hands. Fuck it, he can’t take this anymore. He turns onto his side, twists his face into the pillow, and closes his eyes, thankful that many years of close living quarters has given him the opportunity to hone his silent masturbatory technique.

He licks his palm, grasps his dick firmly, and lets his mind flip through the highlight reel he’s accumulated of Danny. He’s slightly alarmed to realize that most of his thoughts are things that have actually happened—Danny yelling at him, Danny coming to his rescue, the two of them surfing—interspersed with a few more imaginative scenarios, all involving nudity, that his mind has conjured up.

Steve manages to do it silently, with only one muffled grunt escaping as he comes. He scoots over to avoid the wet spot and lies there like a beached whale, breathing hard. He tries to feel guilty about it, the vague creepy voyeur thing he’s got going on right now, but the drag of sleep is so powerful now that he’s relaxed and his eyes fall shut.

* * *

When Steve wakes up again, it’s late afternoon, and the house is quiet. He finally feels calm and on top of things again, and he’s confident now that he can keep a lid on his feelings for Danny. A few years ago, Steve wouldn’t even have  _noticed_ missing a night of sleep, but things are different now. Some might say that Steve’s gone soft, but he prefers to think that he’s…adjusting to the civilian lifestyle. And as a civilian, he really appreciates the opportunity to catch up on sleep. Especially now when he has to keep a closer eye on his actions, lest he reveal something he doesn’t want to.

Steve makes his way downstairs and after poking through the fridge, decides to just make the dinner he was planning to last night. The ahi won’t be as good as it would have been yesterday, but it’s still fresh enough. And he knows Danny will bitch if there aren’t enough carbs, so he starts to throw together a rice-based salad.

Dinner’s almost done and he’s in the middle of chopping a bell pepper when he hears the familiar creak of the floorboards upstairs. Steve can track Danny’s progress through the house—out of the guest room, into the bathroom, back out of the bathroom, heading toward the stairs—and it doesn’t make him nearly as uneasy as he feared it would, to have someone in his space like this.

“Sorry again for, uh, earlier,” Danny says, and Steve whirls around at the sound of his voice.

At least he’s wearing a shirt now. But it’s a button-down with only a few of the buttons actually fastened, so it’s practically more obscene than him not wearing a shirt at all.

“I thought you’d be at the office or something,” Danny continues.

“I went into the office for a while this morning before I picked you up at the hospital,” Steve explains. “It was pretty quiet, and Chin’s holding down the fort today.”

“I didn’t know SEALs were allowed to take naps,” Danny says, and the grin combined with the messy hair makes him look a lot younger. Steve can’t help but smile back.

“We’re encouraged to catch up on sleep any time we can, actually. And I didn’t really sleep at all last night, so—”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Danny says, wincing. “I would say that you didn’t have to come, but you’d probably take that as an insult or something.”

“I probably would.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Danny seems to notice the food spread out over the counter.

“You’re making dinner,” Danny says, and Steve resists the temptation to make fun of him for stating the obvious.

Instead he turns back toward the counter and says carefully, “Figured I shouldn’t let the food from last night go to waste.”

“Is this ahi?” Danny wanders over to where Steve is letting the fish come to room temperature. “Fancy.”

Steve just hums agreeably, giving more attention than is necessary to the bell pepper. He’s not really sure he can look at Danny right now without giving something away.

“You hungry?”

“Always,” Danny says, affronted, and Steve laughs.

“Okay, then. The ahi should only take a few minutes on the grill.”

Several minutes later Steve’s standing by the grill and enjoying the warm, salty breeze when Danny comes out the lanai door, carefully balancing plates and silverware in his good arm. He must not be doing a good job at hiding his surprise because Danny makes a face at him.

“I’m not going to eat a nice dinner in front of the TV,” Danny says, contorting himself to set everything down on the small table on the patio. “Even I have standards.”

“You, really?” Steve asks as he flips the tuna. “I have seen you _inhale_ malasadas and leave a trail of crumbs in your wake.”

Steve slides the tuna steaks onto the platter when they’re done, just a couple minutes later, and sits down next to Danny.

“Wait, why aren’t we drinking beer?” Danny asks. He braces his good arm on the table and starts to stand up.

“Ah,” Steve says, one hand shooting out to grab Danny’s forearm before he can go anywhere. “You’ve been on painkillers and you have a concussion, no beer for you.”

“Seriously?” Danny complains, but he drops back down into his chair.

“Maybe one later,” Steve says, looking down his nose at Danny. “If you’re good.”

“ _Now_ you decide to listen to the doctors? If you were the injured one, you’d probably be into your third beer by now.”

“I’m bigger than you, it wouldn’t affect me as much,” Steve says, smirking, and he lets go of Danny’s arm as he ducks out of the way of his easy punch.

“Then why aren’t _you_ drinking?”

Steve lifts one shoulder. “Maybe I’m just that nice of a guy.”

Danny narrows his eyes and stares at him. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Just shut up and eat your dinner.”

Danny rolls his eyes and takes in all the food spread out on the table.

“Wow, you’ve been holding out on me all these years?” he asks. Steve tilts his head, raises his eyebrow, so Danny continues. “That you can cook, I mean. Besides, you know, applying fire to meat like the caveman that you are.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, offhand. “My mom liked to cook, and she taught me while I was growing up.”

He could add to that sentence _she told me it would help me get girls_ because she did, but it’s not really applicable in this situation so he doesn’t.

Danny opens his mouth, then closes it again, and Steve braces himself. He can see it in his eyes. Danny is a detective through and through, and Steve can tell he’s working through all of this in his head, dying to ask why tonight is different. Why Steve actually _cooked_ instead of just throwing steaks on the grill, or even just getting take out. He doesn’t, though, and Steve can’t really tell if what he’s feeling is relief or disappointment.

Instead Danny pokes at the pineapple on his plate. “Is this…pineapple salsa?”

Steve nods, his mouth full, and waits, watches as Danny pushes it around on his plate a little.

“Well, Clara Williams did not raise a rude son, so I’ll try it,” Danny says. He loads his fork with both the salsa and the tuna, and raises it in Steve’s direction. “Cheers.”

“What was the rule growing up? Must take a bite of everything?” Steve says.

“ _Three_ bites, actually,” Danny says after he swallows, “which is torture when it comes to my mother’s Brussels sprouts, let me tell you.”

“That means you gotta eat three bites of this, then,” Steve says, gesturing with his fork.

“I will gladly eat more than three bites of this because this is delicious,” Danny says. He starts to take another bite but pauses to glare at Steve. “But don’t you go getting any ideas about pineapple on pizza. Even my mother would agree that the three bite rule doesn’t apply to such a ridiculous concept.”

Danny continues to eat, and Steve feels silly that such a tiny thing makes his heart feel so warm.

* * *

Danny groans and pushes his plate away. “That was really good. I especially like that this tuna did not involve sharks or boatjacking.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. The tuna that day tasted so much better because you caught it, admit it.”

“I will never,” Danny says, but his eyes are bright, and Steve has a hard time looking away.

He finally manages it and stands up, gathering the dishes. Danny follows him to the kitchen and lays a hand on his arm. Steve stills immediately.

“Hey, let me clean up.”

“Are you serious? You are injured, and you can only use one arm. As much as I’d like to see you actually clean something, you’d still be washing dishes at dawn.”

Steve watches Danny walk into the living room and shakes his head. He rolls up his sleeves and cleans up—it only takes a few minutes, then he grabs two beers out of the fridge and joins Danny on the couch.

“Here,” Steve says, handing Danny a bottle. “Your reward for eating your pineapple.”

Danny takes the bottle with a nod. “Thanks for dinner, really. And you know, for all of this.”

Steve’s a little too cowardly to look at Danny right now, so instead he nods and reaches toward the coffee table.

“Monday Night Football?” Steve asks, his hand hovering over the remote. “I still have the game recorded from last night.”

“Sure,” Danny says, settling back into the couch. “I didn’t even catch the score.”

Danny only makes it about three-quarters of the way through his beer before he’s dozing off, and he’s fully asleep before halftime. He’s curled up on his good side with his bare feet only about an inch from Steve’s leg.

Steve subconsciously counts breaths, relieved to see that Danny’s breathing is deep and even and regular. His eyes wander down Danny’s body and he lets himself think, just for a second, about how Danny would feel—all heavy and snuffly and sleep-warm—before he clamps down on the impulse.

“Who knew you could be such a creeper, babe?” Danny says, scratchily, and Steve starts.

He crosses his arms over his chest and snaps his gaze back up to Danny’s eyes. The sleep softens his edges, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and gentle.

“The Jets are losing,” Steve says finally, unwilling to enter any conversation that involves _why were you staring at me while I was sleeping_.

“Big surprise,” Danny says with a snort.

“You wanna go upstairs?” Steve asks. He’s refusing to let himself think about how he’d much rather be saying that same phrase in a very different way.

Danny shakes his head, and his eyes slip closed again. “Uh-uh, m’comfy.”

He shifts and stretches out a little further so that his feet are firmly pressed against Steve’s thigh, and Steve takes a shaky breath. He’s careful not to move his leg as he twists around to grab the throw blanket behind him, which he lays over Danny.

Less temptation that way.

* * *

When Steve walks in the lanai door the next morning, still wet from his swim and completely on autopilot, he’s startled to see Danny in the kitchen. His hair is still gloriously messy, and he’s dressed in only a thin t-shirt and boxers.

“Morning,” Steve says, suddenly painfully aware of his level of nudity. But he’s never been shy, and he’s not going to start now. He takes a deep breath and finishes drying himself off, then tosses the towel on the counter. “How’re you feeling?”

Danny gives him a quick glance and then returns his gaze to the newspaper.

“Eh,” he says, see-sawing with his hand. “Headache’s mostly gone, but everything’s still pretty sore.”

“You’re up early.”

“I took a five-minute shower while you were gone,” he says, without looking up from his coffee, and Steve grins.

“Does that mean I only get one minute?”

“I doubt even you could shower in a minute.”

Steve snorts. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, go enjoy your sixty seconds of bliss. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

“Save your breath,” Danny says dryly. “I’m making breakfast.”

He gets up to pour himself a second cup of coffee, and Steve backs toward the stairs. He opens his mouth, but Danny cuts him off without even turning around.

“I won’t make eggs, don’t worry,” he says, and Steve huffs out a laugh. “Go shower.”

* * *

“My culinary abilities are a little limited with one arm,” Danny says when Steve makes his way back downstairs. “So all you get is oatmeal and fruit.”

“This is great. I would have thought oatmeal would be too healthy for you.”

“Grace is on an oatmeal kick, I’ll have you know,” Danny says, joining Steve at the table. “So I figured I’d better learn how to make it.”

“It’s really good,” Steve mumbles through a mouthful.

“You’re such a pig,” Danny says, though his tone is fond. “Seriously, who taught you table manners?”

Steve opens his mouth, proudly showing off his oatmeal, and Danny groans. “God, you’re gross. Why do I put up with you again?”

Steve pointedly swallows before he speaks. “Because I’m so charming.”

“I refuse to dignify that with a response.”

After Danny finishes, he stands up and drops his dishes in the sink.

“Let me go get dressed, and then we can go,” he says.

“You don’t have to go into work today. I’m sure your boss will understand,” Steve says, and his grin is undaunted by Danny’s eye roll.

Danny shrugs. “Nothing better to do. I can at least work on paperwork.”

“It’s going to be pretty slow going without the use of your dominant hand,” Steve points out, and Danny frowns at him.

“I’ll still be faster than you,” he shoots back.

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. Danny really is good with the paperwork, and Steve knows from experience that if he pisses him off, he’ll be much less likely to do Steve’s. He pops the last of his banana into his mouth and stands up, joining Danny at the sink.

“Do you have any bandages?” Danny asks. “I have a nasty cut on my back that needs to be covered again.”

“Yeah, sure, come on.” Steve mentally steels himself again as he leads Danny up the stairs.

After they reach Steve’s bathroom, Danny braces himself on the sink and uses his good hand to lift up the hem of his shirt. Steve groans inwardly. The cut does look angry, red and rubbed raw, but the worst part is that it extends down below the line of Danny’s boxers. Fuck.

He gingerly pulls the waistband out and down, cursing loudly in his head. God damn it, Danny has a _tan line_. Steve would have been perfectly happy without that knowledge. He very carefully angles his hips away from Danny as he leans forward. It’s quiet— _too_ quiet—as Steve quickly covers the wound with the bandage, touching Danny’s skin as little as possible, and tapes it down. Once he’s done, he tugs Danny’s boxers back up and gives him a slap on the hip.

“There you go.”

“Thanks,” Danny says, letting loose a long, whistling exhale.

Steve needs to get out of this confined space as soon as possible, so he nods at Danny and tries not to race out the door. He’s safely downstairs washing the dishes from breakfast when he hears Danny yell from his room.

“Asshole, you didn’t pack any ties!”

Danny’s voice is muffled, but it’s still clearly audible and Steve smiles. “Damn right I didn’t!” he yells back. “Enjoy looking like you belong!”


	5. Just when you think you're all adult swim

A muffled scream cuts through the silence of the house, and Steve is startled awake. He quickly takes stock—he wasn’t dreaming, it wasn’t him, so it must have been Danny. Fuck.

There’s another pained noise, louder this time, and Steve rolls out of bed, grabbing his gun out of the nightstand and automatically landing in a crouch. He creeps down the hall toward Danny’s room, listening intently. He doesn’t hear any more loud noises, just a couple more cut-off moans.

Steve swings the door open, steps in gun-first, and is relieved beyond measure to see nobody but Danny, who’s asleep and writhing in the bed. Steve exhales loudly and reengages the safety on his gun, setting it down gently on the dresser. Nightmares suck, but they’re a hell of a lot better than armed intruders. Which he’s had enough of in this house.

Steve swallows hard and steps toward the bed. Dropping to his knees, he tries to position himself outside of Danny’s arm range. God knows Steve’s accidentally punched people who tried to wake him, and he’d bet Danny would react the same way.

“Danno,” he tries softly.

Nothing. Danny’s entire body is in motion, squirming as if he’s trying to escape something, and he’s covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“Danny.” Louder this time.

“No, no, no,” Danny chants, but he’s clearly still asleep. Steve aches for him—based on the twisted expression on his face, this nightmare must be a particularly bad one. He can’t watch this anymore, so Steve gets a tight grip on Danny’s biceps and leans in close.

“Danny!”

He’s using what Danny would call his SEAL commander voice, and sure enough, it works again. Danny’s eyes fly open, and Steve’s chest tightens—his normally clear blue eyes are glassy and watery. Steve instantly loosens his grip and leans back, but Danny lifts up a little as if to follow him.

“Steve?” His voice is broken and uncharacteristically unsure. Steve’s heart breaks a little more.

“Yeah, babe. I’m right here.”

“But you were—you were dead.”

Yup, there it is, Steve’s heart just breaks clean in half, and he leans forward again over Danny. “Hey,” he says gently. “You’re okay.”

He works his fingers through Danny’s damp hair, and he really must be out of it still because he doesn’t even complain. A minute later, Steve can feel it the second that the dream finally leaves Danny. He gives one last shudder then goes still, groaning and pressing his forehead to Steve’s bare shoulder.

“Oh god,” he says, and he sounds like Danny again. “That fucking sucked.”

“I bet,” Steve says. He clears his throat to get the catch out of his voice and sits back.

“This is kind of embarrassing,” Danny says, swiping a hand down his face.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, like I never have nightmares.”

He’s quiet for a minute, letting Danny catch his breath, before he speaks again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Danny shakes his head vigorously. “Nope, not even a little bit.”

Steve nods and gets to his feet. He understands. Sometimes with the bad ones, giving voice to them can make them feel even more real than they already did. “Can I get you anything?”

Danny shakes his head again. “Sorry about all this,” he says, scrunching his face. “And…thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says. He shoots Danny a smile and slips out of the room.

* * *

Steve has survived living with Danny for nearly a week.

The level of familiarity and comfort is driving him insane. Not because it exists but because he _likes it_. After a couple decades of living in close quarters with dozens of other people, Steve has come to seriously appreciate and enjoy his space. But he’s happy as a clam with Danny, who fills up the silence and takes showers that are too long and leaves his clothes draped over every surface.

He can’t help but contrast it to when Cath stays with him. It’s nice, sure—the sex probably helps with that—but he often gets a little antsy after a few days. Having her in his space makes him a bit twitchy, like something is off. He had just figured that the same thing would happen with anyone, but apparently not. Having Danny _here_ in his house is awakening a strange, primal part of his brain.

Trouble is, Steve is no closer to finding out anything about Danny. Anything about his...sexual persuasion, anyway. Steve’s taken to walking around without a shirt after his morning swim for a little longer than usual, but Danny barely spares him a second glance.

He’s also being nicer than usual, but Steve figures that’s just because he’s grateful for a place to stay and for the help. But his injuries are nearly healed, the mobility on his dominant side is better, and truth be told—he could have gone home a couple days ago. Not that Steve is complaining.

Danny’s feeling good enough that he’s pestering Steve about work. After a few days of just puttering around the office, Danny claimed he was getting restless and finally convinced Steve that he could at least accompany him for interviews.

Which brings them to this afternoon, with Chin briefing them on a recent case.

“Do we have any leads on this whatsoever?” Danny asks as he makes a face and scratches at his cheek.

His face has a healthy layer of stubble— _as if I’m going to use a_ blade _on my_ face _with my non-dominant hand, god, Steven_ —and Steve is finding that he really likes it. The increase in Steve’s proximity to Danny has corresponded nicely to the increase in his jerking off frequency. Unfortunately.

Steve tunes back in just to see Chin swipe up a driver’s license onto the big screen. “His roommate, Ryan Johnson, works as a waiter at LuLu’s in Waikiki.”

“All right, then that’s where we’re headed. Danny, let’s go.”

* * *

They’re walking down the street to LuLu’s when the bouncer at the bar next door gets their attention.

“Danny!” The bouncer, a jolly-looking Hawaiian fellow, waves at Danny, and he laughs.

“Hey, Manu,” he says, going over to him and exchanging a handshake and pats on the shoulder.

“How you doin, man?” Manu asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Danny just chuckles again, though it sounds a little strained, and he doesn’t look at Steve. “Yeah, well, been pretty busy. This is Steve, by the way.”

Steve smiles, nods, and then they’re moving down the street toward LuLu’s.

“How do you know that guy?” Steve asks offhand, tilting his head.

Danny looks down at the ground for a second, then back up at Steve. “I’ve been there before.”

Why does Danny look so shifty? Steve furrows his brow and twists his head to catch the name of the bar, Hula’s. It sounds familiar, and he racks his brain for just a second before it hits him—Hula’s is one of Oahu’s most famous gay bars. And that’s when Steve’s whole world just up and flips on its axis.

He must not be hiding his shock as well as he thinks he is—stopping in his tracks and gasping must give it away, damn it—because Danny scowls up at him. “Just—just not now, okay? Let’s finish this, do our jobs, and we can talk about it later.”

Steve nods, still more than a little numb, and spends the next couple hours on auto-pilot. 

* * *

It’s only due to Steve’s great skill in compartmentalizing that keeps him from tackling Danny and demanding an explanation  _right fucking now_ . Instead, he manages to wait until later that night, when the two of them are out on the lanai, beers in hand.

“You’re _bi_?” Steve asks, aghast. He’s way too on edge to even pretend to ease into this. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Does anybody know?”

“Of course people know!” Danny snaps, flinging both arms up into the air. “I’m not completely in the closet. Rachel knows, Kono knows, people in Jersey know.”

“Kono knows?” The tight knot in Steve’s chest is only getting tighter, and he resists the urge to rub at his chest. God, he thought he and Danny were _close_ , but he doesn’t trust him with this essential piece of him. The dismay must show on his face because Danny settles down into his chair and blows out a loud breath.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter and lower. He reaches over and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “I’m sorry, okay? At the beginning…I just wasn’t sure. The cop world isn’t exactly a shining beacon of acceptance, and the military is even worse. So when I met you—”

Steve’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest. “Hey,” he says, affronted.

Danny cuts him off with a shake of his head and grips his knee tighter. “I know, I know, you’re not—I know, okay?”

Steve is only slightly mollified, but at least Danny doesn’t think he’s a homophobe. “But why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Danny says, looking down at his hands, one of which is still resting on Steve’s leg. “We became friends and I knew you’d be fine with it, but then for some reason I just kept…not telling you. It’s not like it came up, I certainly never dated anybody, and it got harder the longer I waited because I knew you’d just freak out about why I waited so long to tell you. Exactly as you’re doing now.”

Steve sees the tiny smile on Danny’s face and feels that knot in his chest ease, just a touch. “I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re not?” Danny asks, his eyes trained right on Steve’s. “Not even a little?”

Steve just shakes his head, not really able to put words to his feelings yet.

“Because some guys say they’re okay with it when they’re really not. They start second-guessing every interaction, always on their toes about whether you’re coming on to them or not, it’s so fucking stupid,” Danny says, his voice increasing in volume. “And I just—I just really didn’t want that to happen with us.”

Steve snorts because god, if Danny only knew how far away from the truth that is. He leans forward and puts his hand on Danny’s arm. He’s not about to tell him the whole truth—and yes, he recognizes the hypocrisy in his actions, thanks so much—but he needs to mollify Danny’s worry. Then Danny’s phone rings suddenly, and he curses as he fishes around in his pocket, frowning when he looks at the display.

“I should get this,” he says, with an apologetic tilt to his head. Steve nods, his hand falling from Danny’s arm, and Danny heads into the house.

Steve sits there, nursing his beer and looking out at the water as everything Danny said to him tumbles around in his brain. Danny is  _bi_. And he didn’t tell Steve because he thought he would what, freak out? Well, Steve is freaking out, more than a little bit, but probably not for the reason that Danny’s concerned about.

Steve hears Danny come back outside several minutes later and he turns, swallowing hard against the rush of pure arousal that burns right through him, hot and fast and leaving him reeling for a second, off-balance. Danny’s all barefoot and casual with his hair tousled, looking like he  _belongs_ , here in Hawaii and here in Steve’s house.

“I gotta go back to Jersey,” Danny says, dropping heavily back into his chair and holding his head in his hands, and that only tilts Steve’s world more off his axis.

Steve would make fun of him for sounding so bummed out if he weren’t busy being too damn sad himself.  “Wait, what?”

“They recently wrapped up this big mob thing that I was involved in before I left, and it’s finally time for trials. I have to go back and testify.”

“Wow. When, uh, when do you have to leave?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

Danny snorts. “In a couple hours. They booked me on a red-eye. Fucking hate red-eyes, as if anybody over the age of eight can sleep on a damn plane.” But he trails off, not looking like he even has the energy to rant right now.

“And for how long?”

“Hopefully a week, maybe two.”

“I thought you’d be jumping up and down for the chance to go back to Jersey.” So he can’t resist.

“Yeah, well,” Danny says with a shrug. “Doesn’t feel too much like home anymore, you know?”

Steve can only nod, and they spend several long minutes sipping their beers, the crashing waves providing the only accompaniment to the silence. 


	6. Slow dancing in the darkness

The next day Danny is gone, and Steve just stands in the kitchen, dripping wet from his swim and suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the usual silence of his house. He misses coffee being ready when he comes in, he misses being able to tease Danny about how ridiculous his hair looks in the morning. What is he even going to do today?

His phone rings, disrupting the stillness, and Steve jumps. He looks around, locates his phone on the counter, and he inhales sharply when he catches a glimpse of the display.

Why would Rachel be calling? Unless...Danny. About a million different scenarios—all equally terrible and involving blood and guns and hospitals—run through Steve’s head, and he cringes while thinking back to the last time he answered a phone call about Danny. But he forces himself to answer the phone.

“Rachel?” he says, and he really hates how tight his voice sounds.

“Hi, Commander,” she says, sounding calm and completely normal, and Steve relaxes the rigidity of his stance.

“Steve,” he replies automatically, and she chuckles.

“Steve, then,” she relents. “Now, I understand that this is very short notice, and I apologize. But the only thing Grace has been talking about all week is Uncle Steve teaching her to surf this weekend, and now that Danny’s gone to New Jersey, she’s quite devastated. Is there any chance she could still come over?”

Steve finds himself completely at a loss for words.

“I completely understand if it’s too much trouble,” Rachel hurries to say, filling the silence. “I can—”

“No!” Steve says, shaking his head even though she can’t see him. “I would love to see her, please, she’s always welcome.”

“Wonderful,” Rachel says, sounding relieved. “She’ll be so thrilled. Maybe I could drop her off around 1 and pick her up around 5? That would work with my schedule.”

“That sounds perfect,” Steve says. He hangs up the phone a minute later and grins to himself. Time to go to Mamo’s for a surfboard.

He comes home about an hour later with a purple surfboard carefully strapped into the back of the truck. Steve knows Danny will yell at him because he bought it instead of renting, but oh well. He’ll get over it eventually.

Steve also stopped by the store while he was out, and as he unpacks the groceries, he contrasts his current giddy mood with how morose he was feeling earlier and can’t help but laugh. How quickly things change.

Just after 1, he hears a car pulling into the driveway and steps out the front door just as Grace is exiting the car.

“Uncle Steve!” Grace yells, and she runs at him for a hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve says, picking her up and making her laugh.

“Don’t forget your bag, Grace,” Rachel says, and Steve looks up to see her standing next to the open driver’s side door.

“Hi, Rachel,” Steve says, lifting a hand toward her.

“Hello, Steve,” she says with a smile.

Grace turns back to Rachel, takes the backpack from her outstretched hand, and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, mom.”

“Be good for Steve, okay?” Rachel says. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

Grace gives her mom a wave and charges past Steve up the stairs and into the house.

“Can we really go surfing?”

She’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Steve can’t help but laugh. Her enthusiasm is contagious. “You bet we can. You have your sunscreen on?”

Grace nods, so Steve gestures gallantly toward the lanai door. “Then let’s go.”

Grace steps outside and gasps, her hands going up to her face, when she sees the surfboard. “Is that for me?”

“Sure is. You like it?”

“It’s perfect,” she says, running her hand over it reverently. “I love purple.”

“Good. It might be a little big for you, but that just means you have time to grow into it.”

“Thanks, Uncle Steve,” Grace says, and he’s all too eager to accept another hug.

* * *

Grace, to no surprise, proves to be a wonderful pupil. They spend a while on the sand with Steve teaching her the basics of how surfing works and how to master her stance. Eventually they move into the water, and Grace rides some small waves on her stomach and on her knees, just to get a feel for the necessary balance.

Steve can feel his heart leap into his throat the first time she wipes out, though he shouldn’t have worried because she just pops up laughing and shaking her head to get the hair out of her face. He watches her like a hawk, but she’s a natural and does quite well for her first time.

And finally, after a couple of hours, Grace admits that she’s tired, and they both make their way over to the lanai.

“Uncle Steve, we have to take a selfie,” Grace says matter-of-factly. “So we can send it to Danno.”

He automatically drops down onto one knee next to her and winces when she hands him his phone. “I’m sure you’re much better at this than I am,” Steve admits.

“But your arms are longer, it’ll be easier. Here, I’ll show you.”

Grace rearranges Steve’s hold on the phone and instructs him on the finer points of taking a selfie, with him nodding earnestly the entire time. Then she snuggles up right under his arm, and smiling at the camera is about the easiest thing Steve’s ever done.

He presents the photo for her inspection, and Grace deems it wonderful. Steve has to agree, so he sends it to Danny with no accompanying message.

When he checks his phone several minutes later, he laughs as he reads Danny’s text.

_Never thought I would actually want to be on a beach, but there you go._

* * *

Steve and Grace are freshly showered and watching a documentary on the Discovery Channel when Steve’s phone rings.

“It’s your mom,” Steve says to Grace after he stands up to grab the phone.

“Rachel?”

“Hello, Comm—Steve,” Rachel says, and this time she  _does_  sound panicked. Steve shoots a quick smile at Grace and scoots out of the living room into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?” Steve asks quietly. 

“It’s Charlie,” Rachel says, her voice sounding watery. “He has a high fever, and I have to take him to the ER, I have no idea how long it will take. Stan is out of town, and—”

“Grace can of course stay here,” Steve interrupts. “As long as you need.”

He hears Rachel exhale slowly, and it’s quiet for a moment on the line. “Thank you,” she says. “So much. Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Steve says firmly. “She’s stayed here before, we’ll be fine. Anything I should know?”

Rachel laughs weakly. “She’ll never admit it, but she’s a little bit scared of the dark. She’ll sleep better with a nightlight.”

“You got it,” Steve says with a smile. “Try not to worry about Grace, just take care of Charlie. Is there anything else you need?”

“You’re doing more than enough, Steve,” she replies. “I’ll stay in touch.”

“You want to talk to Grace?”

“Yes, please, thank you.”

After Steve hands the phone off, he goes into the kitchen to get Grace a glass of water and to give her a minute of privacy to talk to her mother. When he hears her say good bye, he walks back into the living room.

“Looks like the two of us are having a sleepover,” Steve announces.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” Grace says, and the broad smile on her face is reassuring. “I’m worried about Charlie, though, do you think he’s going to be okay?”

“I know your mom and the doctors are going to take really good care of him,” Steve says, trying to be honest without sugar-coating the situation. He sits next to her on the couch and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You sure you’re okay with staying here?”

“Of course!” Grace says, and she’s looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Good, just checking. You hungry?” he asks. She nods, and he continues. “Do you like chicken?”

“Uh-huh. Can I help you cook?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Grace and Steve are just finishing up dinner—together they made baked chicken with rice and roasted vegetables—when he hears an unfamiliar ring tone.

“That’s my phone,” Grace says, and she digs it out of her bag. “It’s Danno!”

“Better not tell him about all the fun we’ve been having,” Steve says solemnly. “Wouldn’t want him to be jealous.”

“Hi, Danno,” Grace grins at Steve as she answers the phone in a sing-song voice. She sits back down at the table, and Steve smiles as he listens to her half of the conversation.

“Uncle Steve just made dinner.”

“Charlie is sick and Step-Stan is out of town, so I’m staying here tonight.”

“Yes, we’ve had so much fun! Steve got me a surfboard, and we went surfing, and he made dinner, and he even ate all of his vegetables without me telling him to. You should listen to Steve, Danno.”

Steve laughs to himself as he gets up from the table and starts to clean the dishes. He’s almost done when Grace says his name, and he turns around.

“He wants to talk to you,” Grace says, and she holds her phone out to Steve.

“Hi, Danno,” Steve says, dropping a kiss on Grace’s head on his way out to the lanai.

“Are you on some kind of campaign to make my daughter love you more than me?”

Steve laughs. “As if that would be possible.”

“Sounds like it. Did I hear her right when she said that you bought her a _surfboard_?”

Steve is suspiciously silent, and Danny groans. “Fine.”

“You’re not mad?” Steve asks, curious.

“No,” Danny says, though he sounds a little reluctant. “I know you’re not trying to buy her love like Step-Stan is.”

“You’re comparing me to Step-Stan?” Steve asks, and he grins.

Danny groans. “You’re better than Step-Stan, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m a little nervous,” Steve says, lowering his voice.

“Of what? Of Grace spending the night?” Danny says with a snort. “She loves you, babe, c’mon.”

“What if, I don’t know, I screw up somehow?”

“Okay, well, unless you take her to the shooting range or something, there isn’t much you can do to screw up. It’ll be fine, don’t worry. You already fed her, that’s like 70 percent of it.”

Steve sighs. “You just make it look so easy.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, my friend. I know you think it’s my awesome parenting skills—which are vast and beyond measure, to be true—but Grace makes it easy.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

Steve rolls his eyes and hopes Danny can feel it through the phone. “How’s Jersey?”

“Oh, fine. Good to see my parents, and we’re prepping for court next week. Wish I were there, though.”

“Us, too. Talk to you later, okay?”

Steve walks back in the kitchen, and Grace looks up from her phone.

“Do we have any dessert?” she says, and Steve winces.

“I don’t think I have anything here, actually. How about some shave ice from Kamekona?”

“Yes!” Grace cheers.

“Do you want to take Danno’s car or the truck?”

Grace twists her mouth as she thinks, the gesture so similar to Danny’s that it makes Steve smile. “The truck! It’s fun to be up so high.”

“You got it.”

* * *

“Hey, wahine!” Kamekona says as he sees them, waving at Grace and slapping Steve on the back.

“What does that mean?” Grace says, wrinkling her nose.

“Young girl,” Kamekona says. “I think it’s time for a step up from keiki, which means kid.”

“It also means surfer girl, which is very appropriate because Grace had her first surfing lesson today,” Steve says, swinging his arm over Grace’s shoulder.

“Whoa! Were you shredding today, wahine?”

“Totally,” Grace says, giggling.

“And where’s Jersey?”

“In Jersey, actually,” Steve says with a chuckle.

“Me and Steve are having a sleepover!” Grace says, and Kamekona laughs.

“And what’s a sleepover without shave ice, right?”

“Exactly. What flavor would you like, Grace Face?” Steve asks.

She presses her lips together and studies the list. “Cherry, please!”

“All right, Kame, one cherry and one pineapple,” Steve says, pulling out his wallet.

“On the house today, bruddah,” Kamekona says, holding up his hands. “In honor of our wahine’s first surfing experience.”

But Steve just smiles and stuffs a ten into the tip jar, then accepts both cups from Kamekona.

“I know a cool spot where we can eat this,” he says to Grace, “come on.”

They drive a little ways down the road, then Steve backs the truck up into a scenic overlook off the highway. He lowers the tailgate on the truck bed, helps Grace up onto the ledge, and they sit there, legs dangling, as they watch the sunset.

“Did you know that this is your dad’s favorite spot?” Steve asks.

“Really?” she says, looking up at him.

Steve nods. “Uh-huh. It’s his favorite spot to sit and think.”

“Then it’s my favorite place now, too,” Grace says with a firm nod, and Steve smiles.

A few minutes later, Grace squirms in her seat.

“Hey, Uncle Steve?” she asks, looking down intently at her shave ice.

Steve immediately picks up on the change in her tone, and he stiffens a little. He’s not sure how to prepare himself for whatever is coming, and he hates that feeling. “Yes, Gracie?”

“How do you know if a boy likes you?”

Steve blinks.

“Oh, wow,” he says dumbly, silently cursing Danny for being thousands of miles away. He has no idea what to say, but Grace is looking up at him with those big brown eyes, trusting him to know the answer. So he’ll figure it out.

“Uh, is there a boy who  _you_  like?” he says, avoiding the meat of the question for the time being.

Grace looks down, and he can barely hear her mumble “maybe.”

“It’s not Tommy, is it?” Steve asks, mock scowling. He remembers all too well Danny’s various rants about the kid.

“No, it’s not him,” Grace says, giggling. “His name is Chris.”

Steve instantly commits the name to memory, knowing that he’ll make Danny or Rachel find out a last name—make that Rachel, he can’t tell Danny or else the poor kid probably won’t make it to high school. A background check is happening, obviously, at least on the kid’s parents. Can kids that age have criminal records?

“Steve?”

Oh, right. Back on track.

“Okay, well,” Steve says, racking his brain for an answer. Why does this feel harder than SEAL boot camps? “Let’s see. My guess is, he’ll probably either be really nice to you or he’ll pick on you, but not in a really mean way. Regardless, he’ll treat you differently than he does anybody else.”

“Yeah, he’s always teasing me,” Grace says, wrinkling her nose. “More than he does all the other girls.”

“That’s a pretty good sign then,” Steve says as he nods solemnly.

“Why do boys do that?” Grace asks, tilting her head at him. Man, she’s really bringing the tough questions tonight.

“Um,” Steve says, stalling for time. He’s never really thought about this before. “Some boys think that they, for whatever reason, can’t be very straightforward with their emotions. So instead of just telling somebody that they like them, they kind of play it off. They’re scared of the people they like not liking them back, and it’s easier if they don’t actually come out and _say_ that they like them.” 

“And what do  _you_  think?”

“What do I think about what?” Steve asks, a little confused. 

“You said some boys think they can’t be honest about their emotions. Do you think that?”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to instantly say no, but then he closes it again. He can’t lie to Grace. “I used to,” he says finally. “I don’t anymore, I’m trying to be better.”

“Why do people think that?” 

Steve can’t help it, he chuckles, and Grace looks hurt. “Is that a dumb question?”

“No, no, not at all,” Steve says, reaching out a hand to smooth over her hair. “You’re asking really grown-up questions, and they’re making me think. That’s all.”

Grace nods, satisfied, and waits for him to continue.

“You know what vulnerable means, right?” Grace nods, rolls her eyes a little, and Steve laughs. “Of course you do, sorry. Anyway, lots of boys don’t like being vulnerable because it means somebody might be able to hurt them. Some people think that part of being a man is being really tough, and they don’t think vulnerability is part of that.”

Grace is silent for a second, clearly thinking about what Steve is telling her.

“It sounds like it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable,” she says, and Steve honestly doesn’t know what else to say to that.

“I agree,” he manages to say, finally. “Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise, okay?”

* * *

“Can we watch a movie before bed?” Grace says, once they’re back at the house, and poor Steve is not as inoculated to those big brown eyes as Danny is.

“You bet. How about you get ready for bed first, though—do you have anything to wear for PJs?”

“Um…I have an extra pair of shorts. I don’t think I have a shirt, though.”

“No problem,” Steve says. “I can get you a shirt.”

Ten minutes later Grace comes bounding down the stairs, and Steve has to laugh as the Navy shirt he gave her goes down to her knees.

“You like my dress?” Grace says, spinning around and making the shirt flounce around her.

“Prettiest Navy girl I’ve ever seen,” Steve says as he swoops down and picks Grace up, carrying her upside down and making her laugh before dumping her down on the couch. “What movie do you want to watch?”

Grace picks some fairly terrible movie on Netflix, but Steve doesn’t even care, especially when she falls asleep on his shoulder about halfway through. He lets her doze for about 15 minutes before carefully gathering her in his arms. He’s heard Danny lament that she’s getting too big too fast, so Steve figures he’d better take advantage of it, too. She stirs for just a second before turning her face into his neck and quieting again.

He gently deposits her in the bed in the guest room—which he’s definitely been calling Danny’s room—and kisses her on the forehead. Remembering Rachel’s advice, he leaves the door open a crack and turns the hallway light on.

* * *

Steve gets a text from Rachel at about 2am, the soft chime rousing him from a fitful attempt at sleep. 

_Didn’t want to call and wake you. We’re home from the hospital, Charlie is thankfully doing much better. Do you need me to come and pick up Grace?_

**That’s great. Get some sleep, and you can pick her up anytime in the morning.**

_Thank you so much, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow._

Steve then does some quick math in his head—Jersey is six hours ahead, Danny’s probably awake by now—and texts him.

**How in the world do you ever sleep? I’m terrified that something is going to happen to her.**

Less than a minute passes before Steve’s phone vibrates in his hand.

_Welcome to surrogate parenthood, my friend. Have you gone in to check if she’s still breathing?_

**Only twice.**

_Not bad for your first solo overnight. I figured you would be standing guard outside her room, gun in hand._

**I thought about it. Your daughter’s going to be a therapist, by the way. Very thorough in her questioning.**

_Grace got you to talk about your emotions?? She and I need to compare notes._

**Hey now, doctor-patient confidentiality, man.**

_Pretty sure that doesn’t apply to middle schoolers. I’ll get it out of her._

**Also make her tell you about the boy she likes.**

_WHAT?_

**It’s fine, I handled it.**

_That does not reassure me in the least, Steven. You “handling” things makes me very nervous. Please tell me the kid is still breathing._

**Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk when you get back. Heard from Rachel, Charlie’s doing better.**

_That’s good. There’s nothing scarier than going to the hospital because something’s wrong with your kid. Or a dumb SEAL who likes to throw himself in front of bullets._

**Pretty sure that was only one time.**

_Once was more than enough. Try to get some sleep, babe. She’ll be fine, I promise, you take great care of her._

Steve stares at the text for a minute. “Babe,” which Danny throws around so freely while he’s talking, looks much different in writing—more purposeful. Steve decides maybe he can be purposeful, too.

**Night, Danno. Miss you.**

Steve groans, immediately setting the phone on the nightstand without waiting for Danny to reply, then burrows his head under his pillow and closes his eyes. He’s definitely said too much.

* * *

Steve wakes up early, as usual, and is relieved to see Grace still sleeping peacefully when he peeks in on her. He doesn’t dare leave her alone to go swim, so he just putzes around the house and finally starts whipping up some pancake batter.

Grace must get “morning person” genes from her mother because it’s still fairly early when he hears her up and moving around upstairs.

“Are those pancakes?”

Steve turns at the sound of Grace’s voice and laughs when he sees her standing on the bottom step of the stairs. Maybe she gets the morning person from her mom, but she definitely gets the messy morning hair from her dad.

“You bet. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. Can we have chocolate chip pancakes?” Grace asks, grinning as she comes to stand by Steve next to the stove.

Steve tilts his head and pretends to consider. “How about…some with chocolate chips and some with blueberries?”

“Deal!”

They eat, and just as Grace is finishing her last pancake, Steve hears a car pull into the driveway.

“I bet that’s your mom. Want to go grab your stuff?”

Grace nods and slips upstairs while Steve heads to the door. “Hi, Rachel,” he says as he swings it open.

“Morning, Steve,” she says.

Steve can notice the tiredness on her face, but otherwise she looks as well put-together as usual.

“Mom!” Grace steps around Steve and gives her mom a hug. “How’s Charlie?”

“He’s doing much better, sweetie,” Rachel reassures her. “He’s asleep in the car. Did you have a good time with Steve?”

“We had so much fun, mom!” Grace chatters. “We surfed, and Steve made dinner, and we went to Kamekona’s for shave ice, and we watched a movie, and we had pancakes this morning!”

“Wow, that sounds like a pretty fun day,” Rachel says with an indulgent smile. “Did you say thank you?”

Grace gasps and whirls around, then flings both her arms around Steve. “Thank you, Uncle Steve.”

Steve laughs and wraps one arm around her shoulders. “You’re welcome, Gracie.”

Rachel still looks a little shaken, so Steve opens his free arm and she smiles shyly, then steps in for a hug, too.

“Thank you,” she says quietly to him, and he just squeezes them both a little tighter.


	7. I guess we couldn't breathe all along

With Danny off in New Jersey, the next week passes slowly. Five-0 is quiet, which is good because they’re down a man but bad because it gives Steve even more time to think. He’s done more thinking in the past week than he probably has in his entire life, and now he can’t even sleep because Danny’s on his mind.

They stay in touch every day—usually just texting, but there are a couple of phone calls thrown in there, too—and it’s not making it any easier for Steve to get a handle on his feelings. Truthfully, he has _no idea_ what to do.

If you had told him a couple weeks ago that Danny was bi, Steve would be all over it, and _him_ , in a heartbeat. But now it doesn’t seem so simple. Because what he and Danny have—what he and Danny and _Grace_ have—is really great.

For most of his life Steve had always preferred to keep a bit of distance between himself and others, even his friends. But somehow Danny quickly ducked between those barriers, unnoticed, and popped up right next to Steve, carving out a place for himself as the best friend. A lot of days Steve still isn’t really sure how that happened, but he’s so glad that it did.

Especially because with Danny comes Grace, and for some reason Danny trusts him to spend time with her. Steve never really pictured himself having kids, and he’s incredibly grateful to have Grace. Not that he’s her father, in any way, but he feels like maybe, some days, he can be somewhat of a father figure for her.

And sure, if it turns out that Danny maybe returns some of the same feelings that Steve has, that would be amazing. But if he doesn’t… Steve would like to think that their friendship is strong enough to overcome something like that, but who knows.

Maybe it’s not.

And _that_ is terrifying. Now that he’s finally discovered this amazing relationship with someone, even if it’s just a friendship, he’s loath to give it up. It would certainly be much safer to keep his feelings hidden and maintain their friendship rather than risk having it all blow up in his face.

In a nutshell, this is the infinite loop that Steve’s brain is stuck in, and he’s fucking sick of it. He’s also full of false bravado, thanks to a lack of sleep and no lack of alcohol, so he’s grabbing for his phone before he can talk himself out of it.

**You awake?**

And about 12 seconds later his phone is ringing.

“Why are  _you_  awake?” Danny says, in lieu of a greeting. “Isn’t it about...one in the morning there?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Steve flops back down onto the bed, curling up on his side.

“Why? What’s up?”

Steve is silent. He has no idea what’s going to come out of his mouth.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he rasps.

“What’s wrong? You sound terrible.”

Steve snorts but still can’t seem to make himself say anything.

“Come on,” Danny says. “Just spill it. Did you inappropriately use a shark cage again? You can tell me, I won’t yell. I’ll find out from Kono anyway.”

“I have something to tell you,” Steve blurts out, and he immediately clenches his eyes shut. This is a terrible idea—he does  _not_  have a plan, and he has no idea what to say. He would hang up if he didn’t know Danny would just call him back incessantly until Steve gave an explanation that he deemed satisfactory.

“Whoa, are you _voluntarily_ sharing your feelings? Is that what this is? Should I mark the date in my calendar?” Danny says, and Steve can’t help but release a little laugh.

“Fuck you, shut up.”

“Sorry,” Danny says, and Steve can tell he means it, he can imagine his gestures. “Keep going.”

“That thing you told me? Last week, before you left? I, uh—I think I might be the…same.”

Danny is, for once in his life, not speaking, and Steve would think they got disconnected, except he can hear Danny’s breaths. He can  _feel_  that his face is red, and he closes his eyes in dismay.

“Okay,” Danny says, and his voice sounds a little shaky. “I’m going to put aside the fact that you’re a hypocrite, since I seem to remember you giving me the third degree. But why didn’t you tell me? You could have said something the other night.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a sigh. “But then you had to leave, and...I just didn’t know what to say.”

Danny’s still silent, so Steve just keeps talking, even though he’s a cop now, too, and he knows it’s an interrogation technique.

“It’s just—I’ve never told anyone before. I never even really knew that there _was_ anything to tell,” Steve says, and oh fuck, now he’s rambling. And he can’t seem to make himself stop. “It’s something I hadn’t thought about in a long time, I thought it had just…gone away. I didn’t know it was really a thing. I’ve never even, uh—”

“You’re using past tense there, babe,” Danny says, his voice low, and Steve winces. Fuck. Fucking detectives.

It’s quiet on the line for a minute, and then Steve faintly hears somebody calling Danny’s name. He curses sharply and obviously covers the phone as he talks to someone for a few seconds.

“Goddamn it, Steve, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. My ride’s here.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun in court.”

“Sure,” Danny scoffs. “And Steve? Thanks.”

His voice is, for once in his life, quiet, but before Steve can say anything in return, Danny’s gone.

* * *

 The next morning Steve wakes up and, surprisingly, doesn’t even really regret his ill-advised phone call. He knows that Danny is going to make him talk about it some more, probably, and that won’t be pleasant, but for the moment he actually feels…light. Like there’s a weight taken off his shoulders, and he can breathe freely for the first time in, well, a long time.

He thoroughly enjoys his morning swim and even takes a few minutes to sit on the lanai and actually watch the sunrise, which looks particularly vibrant this morning. His phone chimes when he’s in the middle of making breakfast, and he looks to see that there’s a text from Danny.

_Flying back tomorrow, get in at 8p._

* * *

Sure enough, the next night at 8pm, Steve is waiting in the arrivals area of the airport, scanning the crowd coming down the elevator. He and Danny haven’t talked since Steve’s middle-of-the-night confession, but for some reason he’s not too anxious about it. He finally sees that distinctive head of blonde hair, raises his hand, and Danny’s face lights up when he spots him.

Oh, fuck.

Steve has kind of been deluding himself that maybe this whole _thing_ is just about physical attraction, but judging from the warmth that’s spreading through his heart and not his dick, it most definitely is more than that.

He frantically tries to shove that thought away as Danny makes his way through the crowd toward him. Are they going to hug, are they going to—

“Hey, buddy.”

Danny’s suddenly there, in front of him, holding out his hand. Steve takes it, exhaling loudly, and smiles.

“Danno. Good trip?”

“There was no screaming child on my flight, so I’m considering it a success.”

“How’s the arm? I see it’s at least well enough to use a razor again.”

Danny laughs and rubs at his face. “Just about healed, I think. And just in time, too, they didn’t think I would represent well in court looking like that.”

“Aw, the mountain man look was starting to grow on me,” Steve says lightly, bumping Danny’s bicep with his elbow. “Let’s go.”

Steve leads them out to the pickup area, where the Camaro is waiting in a police parking spot.

“Way to abuse authority,” Danny says. He manages to refrain from comment as he climbs into the passenger seat, though he does shoot Steve a dirty look. “So glad nothing’s changed since I’ve been gone.”

“Hey, we’re police,” Steve says. “It’s completely warranted.”

“ _Sure_. We’re going back to your place, right? I need to grab a few of my things that are still there.”

Steve nods. He desperately wants to say something about how Danny should stay, but he knows there’s no real reason why he should. At least, no reason beyond Steve wanting to get into his pants.

All’s quiet in the car until they’re on the H1.

“So are we just going to ignore what you told me the other day?”

Shit. Steve should never have expected any leeway from Danny. To be honest, he’s surprised they made it this long without talking about it.

“Yes, we are,” Steve says, his gaze steady out the windshield. “For now.”

Danny doesn’t reply right away, and out of the corner of his eye Steve can see him working his jaw.

“Fine,” he says finally. “But not forever.”

Steve figures his silence is a fine substitute for acquiescence, and he’s not sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Danny isn’t pressing the issue.

* * *

Life gets busier for the next few days, thanks to a dumb pair of gun runners—it was so polite of them to wait until Danny came back.

Speaking of Danny, he and Steve still haven’t really talked. See: aforementioned gun runners. But things seem…different. Their regular banter seems tinged with _something_ , and the tension between them is crackling. Steve is going insane.

Several times, he catches Danny looking at him—or vice versa—and just they sit with it for a minute, looking at each other like a couple of lovesick teenagers. Oh my god, when did Steve fall in love and not even notice?

It’s at the end of the day—one of those days filled with those long looks and Danny’s touches that seem to linger longer than they used to—when Steve finally snaps. He does _not_ do hesitation, he hates feeling unsure, and he just can’t handle this instability and this ambiguity anymore.

Steve blows out a loud breath and stands up. Time to do this. He’s never been one to back down from uncomfortable situations, and he’s not planning to start now.

He strides into Danny’s office on autopilot, for once not really registering his surroundings, and barges in without knocking. He stops in the doorway and slouches awkwardly—trying to go for casual and knowing he’s nowhere near it—before just giving up and crossing his arms over his chest. Tough and defensive always works when he’s feeling threatened.

“Dinner, tonight,” Steve says brusquely. “You should come over.”

Danny looks up at him, blinks a few times, then leans back in his chair and props his feet up on the edge of his desk.

“Do I get a choice in the matter?” he says with a little grin, lacing his hands together in his lap.

Steve tilts his head and uncrosses his arms, opting to stick his hands in his pockets instead. “Not really, no,” he says, finally, and his shoulders loosen a little when Danny smiles.

“You’re just lucky I have so much experience with you conscripting me into things,”

“You love it, don’t lie.”

Danny just shrugs.

* * *

Steve fights a déjà vu feeling all evening as he putzes around the house, hoping that this time they’ll actually be able to eat dinner.  

There’s a knock at the door, just as Steve is putting the finishing touches on the marinade for the steaks, and he frowns. He dries his hands and heads for the door, where he’s surprised to see Danny.

“You knocked,” Steve says dumbly as he leans against the doorjamb. 

“Felt more...official,” Danny says, tilting his head back and forth. “I brought wine, by the way.”

“You brought wine?” Steve asks, raising one eyebrow high. He peeks at the paper bag Danny’s holding.

“Of course not,” Danny snaps, and Steve laughs. “I have never seen you drink wine, so I brought scotch.”

“Much better choice,” Steve agrees. 

“You’re wearing jeans,” Danny says, and Steve forces himself not to fidget as Danny looks him up and down.

“Good eye, Detective. You’re not wearing a tie,” Steve shoots back.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Ties are for  _work_ , and this is not work. Unless this is some type of staff meeting or something, and you just didn’t tell me.”

Danny’s tone is light and the words are joking, but his eyes look serious. 

“Nope,” Steve says, not letting himself waver from Danny’s gaze. “Nothing work-related.”

“Good,” Danny says with a nod and a small smile. He just thrusts the bag toward Steve and pushes past him toward the kitchen. “I’m starving, what’re we having?”

“Sure, just come right on in!” Steve calls out after him. He can hear Danny laugh, and Steve closes the door with a smile.

Before too long they’re sitting out back, beers in hand, and chatting comfortably. Nobody has mentioned the elephant lurking in the corner, but Steve no longer feels unnerved by it. He _thinks_ they’re both on pretty much the same page now, anyway, so they’ll get to it eventually.

Having determined that the grill is finally hot enough, Steve places the steaks on the grates and faintly hears another knock at the door. He groans inwardly. Seriously?

“That better not be Kono and Chin,” Danny says, pointing at Steve with his beer bottle. “You promised that this wasn’t work-related.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Steve says, lifting his hands. “I’ll get rid of them, be right back.”

Steve walks through the house and reaches for the door, his mouth already open to tell this person to get the hell away from his  _date_ —yes, it was definitely a date even though Danny might not know it yet. He’d know soon enough.

But those words die in his throat as he swings open the door and sees Cath grinning up at him.

“Hey, sailor,” she says.

Steve closes his mouth and swallows. “Cath, hi, what are you doing here?”

Cath puts a hand on Steve’s arm and leans up, but he turns his head to let her kiss his cheek instead. She knits her eyebrows together a bit and steps through the door.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Cath says, dropping her duffel bag on the floor by the couch. “We got some unexpected leave. Is this a bad time?”

“Wow, what a surprise.”

Steve turns at the sound of Danny’s voice to see him standing in the lanai door, and he winces. Danny’s smiling, but his arms are crossed and his eyes look flat.

“Hey, Cath.”

“Hey, Danny,” Cath says, going over to give him a quick hug. He reciprocates but then steps back, cutting a wide arc to give Steve and Cath a healthy berth as he heads toward the door.

“I’m gonna head out,” Danny says, jerking his thumb back toward the front door. “Give you two some time to catch up.”

“Danno, wait—” 

Steve takes an aborted step toward him, but Danny just waves him off and slips out the door. Steve leans his forehead against the door, takes a deep breath, then turns back to Cath and tries to force a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” she says softly. “What’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Cath smiles and tilts her head. “Steve. Come on, you can tell me.”

“I, uh,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Oh shit, the steaks. Hang on.”

Steve goes back outside and takes the steaks off the grill with a sigh. Ruined dinner number two. He looks up to see Cath standing just inside the door, two beers in hand.

“I think we need to talk,” she says, and Steve is relieved that she doesn’t look upset.

He steers her away from the chairs on the lanai and instead they settle on the couch.

“Are you and Danny dating now?” Cath says frankly, and Steve turns to her in surprise.

“What?”

“I obviously interrupted…something, and I’m really sorry about that.”

“We, uh,” Steve says, playing with the label on his bottle. “We aren’t dating. But things might be—changing.”

“I thought it might happen someday.”

“Really?” Steve looks up and catches her gaze.

“But since you never brought it up, I figured nothing had happened or if it did, you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“We haven’t directly discussed it, but we, I—uh, I want it to, at least.”

“I’m really proud of you, Steve, that must have been hard,” Cath says. “I think regardless of what happens between you and Danny, you and I need to call this off.”

Steve cringes and nods. He knows it’s for the best, but it still hurts breaking off something that’s provided him a lot of comfort over the years.

“Hey,” Cath says softly, her hand on his knee. “We both knew that this could end when someone serious came along.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Come here.”

He wraps an arm around Cath’s shoulders and hauls her close. Laughing, she leans her head against his chest. “Thanks for being okay with this,” he says into her hair.

“I want you to be happy,” she says, patting his stomach. “And I really think Danny can do that.”

“I just hope I can actually be brave enough to do something about it,” Steve says dryly.

Cath twists in his grip and looks up at him. “Really? Is that what’s holding you back?”

Steve nods. “I, uh, realized my feelings for him a little while ago, but I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Well, until tonight. I have no idea how he feels.”

“Oh, come on,” Cath says, smiling. “Believe me, that is _not_ what you have to worry about. I don’t know Danny that well, but anyone can see that he really cares about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely,” she says. “I never thought we would be having this conversation, but I totally think you should go for it.”

Steve laughs and hugs her a little tighter.

* * *

Steve drops Cath off at the Hilton—he offered to let her stay, but she’d graciously turned him down.

“Bye, sailor,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “We’ll talk soon, and you better tell me how that conversation with Danny goes, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I will, I promise.”

He waits until Cath is safely inside, then pulls out of the parking lot and points the truck toward Danny’s.


	8. All I know is I wanna be here with you from now on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has followed along with this story, especially to those who took the time to comment! I really appreciate it, and I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> And one last plug for the title song because I think it's so pretty!
> 
> [Aquaman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRVgptW7bYg)

Steve takes a deep breath as he knocks sharply on Danny’s door. He can hear Cath’s voice in his head— _just take the leap, Steve_ —and it’s oddly reassuring.

Danny swings the door open after just a few seconds, but he’s frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Steve freezes, he hadn’t expected such a harsh greeting. “I, uh, wanted to talk.”

“Where’s Cath?”

Steve opens his mouth, then pauses. He gestures toward the open door. “Can I—?”

“Sorry,” Danny says with a sigh. “Get in here.”

He grabs Steve’s arm to drag him inside the door, but then Danny disappears, leaving Steve standing in the living room. He decides that the couch is fairly safe, so he carefully settles in one corner, and when Danny finally comes back, two bottles of beer in hand, he sits on the other end.

“Where’s Cath?” he repeats.

“She’s at the Hilton. We broke up.”

“Really?” Danny says, both eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. I mean, there wasn’t a lot to, uh, break up, per se, but yeah. It’s over.”

“ _Per se_. Careful, you’ve been hanging out with me for too long,” Danny says, and Steve can’t help but return the smile. “Anyway, wow. Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Steve says, waving his hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

It’s quiet for a minute, the two of them just sitting on opposite sides of the couch, sipping their beers and looking at each other. It’s Steve who breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry that she interrupted our—date. I didn’t know she was coming.”

“That was a date?” Danny says with a tiny smile. “Interesting. You see, when I want to date someone, I usually let them know.”

“Oh, really?” Steve says, tilting his head, and Danny at least has the decency to look a little ashamed.

“Well, maybe this scenario is slightly more delicate.”

“Look, Danno,” Steve says. He sets his beer on the coffee table, forgotten. “I’m tired of dancing around this. I like you, okay? I would like to date you. I would _really_ like to have sex with you. I haven’t really done this whole thing before, at least not seriously, with a man _or_ a woman. But I want to be together, in a real relationship. I want to spend weekends with you and Grace. Eventually, I want you to move in. I’m all-in, okay?”

It’s silent again, and Steve is _dying_. Fight-or-flight has never really been a question for him before, but right now he would happily sprout wings and leave through the front door. He manages to keep his body under control, though, save for his index finger thrumming against his thigh, and he watches Danny’s jaw work, as though he can’t figure out what to say.

“Wow,” Danny says, finally. He looks more than a little freaked out, eyes wide, and that does not ease’s Steve’s nerves, not one bit. “That’s—that’s probably the most words I’ve heard you say at one time.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously not going to say anything?”

Danny sets his own beer on the table, next to Steve’s, and lets out a little chuckle as he does so. Next thing Steve knows, Danny’s _there_ , in his space, and he’s kissing him. Steve’s unable to hold in a little gasp of surprise, and Danny takes advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. Steve doesn’t resist but he’s not exactly an active participant, either, too overwhelmed by the feel of Danny’s lips on his, Danny’s hand on his face.

“I thought you’d be better than this,” Danny laughs against his mouth, and Steve growls, a low rumble deep in his chest. Fuck that.

He snakes an arm around Danny’s waist and uses it to haul him over into his lap, swallowing the groan that comes out of Danny at the sudden movement. Steve twists his fingers in Danny’s hair and uses that grip to hold him there as he tongue-fucks him thoroughly, fast and furious. He pours everything he has into the kiss, nipping at Danny’s lips and exploring his mouth, and Steve is triumphant beyond measure when Danny has to pull away first.

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” Danny says, his voice hoarse and beautifully wrecked. “Even better than I hoped you would be, you asshole.”

Steve keens, practically melting into the couch at the thought that Danny has thought about him, has thought about _this_. Danny opens his mouth to say something else, but Steve is done talking. He just covers Danny’s mouth with his own, delighted that he has found this new method of shutting Danny up. It works, too—he simply stops talking, tilts his head, and plunges his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

Happy to cede control of the kiss, Steve slides his free hand down Danny’s back to his ass, pulling him even closer until they’re completely plastered together. The weight of Danny’s cock against Steve’s stomach, a hard and hot line, is heady, and he tries and fails to suppress a shiver. He’s thought about this several (dozen) times, and the reality is even better than he had literally dreamed. The scrape of Danny’s stubble against his is absolutely foreign to him, and Steve tries desperately to catalogue all that’s happening, everything from the scalding feel of Danny’s hand resting on his ribs to how intoxicating he smells this up close.

They pull apart for just a second to take simultaneous, heaving breaths, before Steve kisses him again and makes it a little slower, deeper this time. Danny lifts on his knees a little, until Steve has to tilt his head up toward him, and he shifts restlessly just to feel Danny’s weight on top of him. It’s hard to tell to whom all of the little noises belong, but Steve just relishes in it all, trying to let it soak deep down into his bones so he’ll remember it later. Danny’s hands are everywhere, moving from Steve’s cheeks to his shoulders, then sliding down to his waist. Steve rocks his hips up just a little, nudging his denim-clad dick against Danny’s thigh—and that seems to break some sort of spell.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Danny says breathlessly, wrenching his mouth away from Steve’s and moving back an inch.

“What?” Steve snaps, seamlessly shifting his kisses to Danny’s neck instead. He’s tired of waiting.

“We gotta talk for a second,” Danny says, though his voice is wavering and he’s tilting his head to give Steve more room. “God, you’re distracting.”

Steve just hums in agreement, and he hides a smile in Danny’s neck as the vibration makes him shudder.

“You told me over the phone that you’ve never done this before,” Danny says. “So we need to slow down.”

Steve rolls his eyes—sexual frustration makes him grumpy. “I’m not a fucking virgin, Danny.”

“Yeah, Smooth Dog, I’m quite aware of that,” Danny says dryly. “But this is—important, okay? To me, at least.”

Steve finally pulls back from Danny’s neck and nods, swallowing hard. He’ll do anything for Danny. “Okay.”

“Good, okay. Tomorrow night, barring any terrorists or violent drug dealers, we are going out to dinner. Not that you’re not a great cook or anything, but we seem to have accumulated some bad luck with dinners at your house, what with car accidents and surprise girlfriends and everything. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “I got it.”

“Good.”

Danny just looks at him for a second before ducking his head down again, and the sweetness of the following kiss makes Steve’s chest ache. Danny shifts back, but Steve quickly gets a hand behind his head to reel him back in. He deepens the kiss, slowly, and spends what feels like an eternity just nibbling on Danny’s lower lip, switching back and forth between sharp nips and soothing licks. Steve slides his hand up Danny’s torso and manages to get one of his shirt buttons undone before Danny sits back again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Danny says, though he strokes a hot hand along Steve’s side as he says it. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, changing tactics and being all sweet. Not gonna work, you still gotta go.”

Steve frowns, and Danny just laughs at him as he clambers off his lap and sits on the other end of the couch. Steve tries to regulate his breathing, but watching Danny run his hands through his hair in a fruitless attempt to smooth it doesn’t make it easy.

“Your hair looks ridiculous,” Steve says, and he’s probably more proud of that than he should be.

Danny scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Steve stands with an exaggerated huff and hauls Danny up with him. He walks backward to the door and falls against it, spreading his legs and letting Danny’s weight hold him there. They kiss again—Danny’s arms bracketing Steve but not touching him, as if he’s forcing himself to hold back—and Steve tests the limits of his lung capacity.

“You sure you want me to leave?” he asks, nosing along Danny’s jaw to his ear.

“No, not at all,” Danny says into his neck, and a tremor races through Steve when he bites down. “But off you go.”

Steve finally slips out the door and drives home, smiling like an idiot. And if he jerks off before going to bed, his fantasies now wonderfully tinged with the realities of how Danny feels pressed up against him, well. No one could blame him.

* * *

The next day at work is surprisingly…normal. Nothing between them seems different, they work together and bicker as usual, and Steve is pretty sure that no one would be able to tell that their relationship just went through a monumental change. Maybe this just means they should have been doing this all along? Too bad Steve can’t explore that train of thought very much without wanting to hit his head against the wall. Repeatedly.

Thankfully they don’t catch an urgent case, and Steve is able to take off around 6pm as planned. He brushes right up against Danny as he leaves, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Steve practically floats through his drive home, his shower—he dresses nicely, dark pants and white shirt with a jacket—and the ride to Danny’s. Danny must have been listening for the sound of Steve’s truck because he’s waiting outside when Steve pulls into the driveway. He hops out of the truck, and they meet at the driver’s side door of the Camaro.

“You’re wearing a tie,” Steve says dumbly. Danny is wearing those gray pants, the ones that show off his ass particularly nicely and that Steve may have noticed a time or two or seven.

“I know you like my ties,” Danny says, looking pleased as punch.

Steve automatically opens his mouth to protest but then stops. He doesn’t have to lie to Danny anymore.

“You’re right, I do, I think they look nice,” he says, conceding the point. He adds petulantly, “But I don’t like what they _represent_.”

“I can live with that,” Danny says with a nod. “So how about I only wear them on special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion?” Steve asks, smirking.

Danny’s eyes narrow and he clearly gears up for a rant, but Steve steps forward with a soft smile and presses him against the car, dipping his head to seal their mouths together. Danny opens up to him right away, turning the kiss lush and soft with no resistance to speak of, and Steve sighs into Danny’s mouth—somehow he feels keyed up yet calmer at the same time. It’s only been about 18 hours since he last kissed him, but it’s already become a habit that Steve is absolutely not willing to give up.

Steve trails kisses down Danny’s jaw to his ear. “Let’s go,” he whispers, but instead Danny yanks him closer by the lapels and turns the kiss deep and dirty, biting at his lip and sucking on his tongue. Steve feels boneless as he all but collapses onto Danny, holding his face with both hands.

“Okay,” Danny says a minute later, sounding annoyingly calm as he slips out from beneath Steve’s weight and circles the car to the passenger side. “Now we can go.”

Steve laughs and takes a deep breath before he gets into the car.

* * *

Eventually they arrive at a small, oceanside restaurant up on the North Shore—it’s nice without being pretentious, popular without being touristy. Steve had called earlier in the day for a reservation, so he and Danny are immediately escorted to a table right near the water, with a lovely view of the sky as it changes colors.

They’re seated next to each other at a four-top instead of across from each other at a table for two, which unfortunately means that Danny’s left hand is free to roam underneath the tablecloth wherever it sees fit. He mostly keeps it neutral—cupping Steve’s knee while they order, stroking his thigh as they eat their surf and turf—but by the time the waiter asks if they want dessert, it’s exploring all sorts of interesting terrain around Steve’s crotch. Steve will not let himself get fully hard in a fancy restaurant, he just won’t, so he declines dessert as fast as he can while remaining polite and asks for the check.

Danny applauds when Steve pulls out his wallet, though they literally wrestle for the little black leather folder when the bill comes, and Steve has to stoop to Danny’s level and pinch the inside of his thigh in order to avoid making a scene. Danny twists out of his grip and resumes rubbing a hot line along the inside of Steve’s thigh, so he fidgets in his chair and prays for the waiter to come back faster.

He finally finally does, and Steve barely looks at the bill as he hastily calculates a tip that’s probably too generous and scrawls his name in what he hopes is the right place. He snaps the folder closed, grabs Danny’s hand off his leg, and hightails it out of the restaurant with Danny in tow.

“You are such a goof,” Danny says with a laugh as they hurry toward the car, fingers still intertwined.

“Me?” Steve exclaims. “I think I was being polite in there and keeping my hands to myself.”

“Oh, you want me to be polite?” Danny asks, and there’s a dirty twist to his grin that Steve hasn’t seen before.

Steve had opted to park the Camaro in a distant corner of the lot instead of relying on the valet, and now he’s thankful for it as he shoves Danny up against the side. “No.”

In what’s quickly becoming Steve’s favorite hobby, he cuts off Danny’s reply with a searing kiss. He gets a hold of Danny’s tie, wrapping it around his hand and using it to anchor himself against his body. Steve rolls his hips forward, just once, and breathes a sigh of relief as the hard line of his cock bumps up against Danny’s. He does it once more, then Danny groans right into his mouth.

“Oh my god, get in the car, you Neanderthal,” Danny says, and it would sound a lot more forceful if he weren’t gasping through the words. “If you make me come in my pants, I swear I will punch you in the face.”

Steve’s face lights up, but Danny glares and shoves at him, hard. Steve drops his hold on the tie, sadly.

“No,” Danny says, enunciating clearly, and under the guise of grabbing at Steve’s ass, he plucks the car keys out of his pocket. “And I’m driving.”

Once they’re in the car and Danny has them pointed toward home, Steve shifts in his seat. Even though he only had one beer, he feels drunk—a little lightheaded, and the tight confines of the car are not helping. Danny not only smells amazing, but he’s rolled up his shirt sleeves and Steve can’t tear his gaze away from how his forearms bunch as he grips the steering wheel.

He decides it’s high time to pay Danny back for the stunt he pulled in the restaurant. While keeping a careful eye on Danny’s face, Steve leans over and places his hand on Danny’s knee. He immediately tenses but quickly relaxes when Steve doesn’t move his hand. Steve only lets him enjoy that false sense of security for a minute before his hand is on the move, venturing slowly up Danny’s thigh until it’s only an inch or so away from his dick. Steve only gets occasional flashes of Danny’s face from the streetlights, but he can tell that his jaw is clenched and the rate of his breathing has definitely picked up.

“God, you are a menace,” he says, and Steve’s quite proud of how Danny’s white knuckling the steering wheel now. “Only you could be just as dangerous in the passenger seat as you are driving.”

Steve laughs but doesn’t dare move his hand any further. It stays there, tucked up right against the crease of his hip, until Danny pulls into Steve’s driveway and cuts the engine. Then, faster than Steve would have thought possible, Danny lunges for him.

Steve kisses him back frantically and fumbles between them for his seatbelt, finally managing to get it undone. He shrugs it off his shoulder and, ignoring the uncomfortable twist of his torso, Steve lets Danny tower over him and press him back into the seat.

“I thought you wanted to take this slow,” Steve says, out of breath already after only a minute, and he’s chastising himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth—why why why would he say something so stupid.

But Danny doesn’t pull away, if anything he just moves in closer. Steve has never seen his eyes quite like this before, they’re dark and bright at the same time, and his pupils are so dilated that you can barely tell that his eyes are blue.

“Fuck slow,” Danny says, and the sharp, rough note to his voice makes Steve want to strip him where they stand.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and then they’re off.

Steve barely remembers their route into the house and up to the bedroom, only that it took them forever to actually get up the stairs because somebody would keep stopping to push somebody else against a wall. And it turns out Danny gets a kick out of looming over Steve by standing on a higher step, and really, who is Steve to stop him.

By the time they actually tumble down onto the bed in a mess of limbs, they’ve both kicked off their shoes, Danny is missing a sock, and Steve’s jacket is hanging limply off one arm. Steve manages to gather himself together and lifts off Danny, rising to his knees. He flings the jacket off somewhere and tries to calm down enough so he can actually take off his shirt.

He tries to meet Danny’s eyes, but they’re locked on his chest as he unbuttons. Steve slows down, fingering the buttons leisurely, and then grins when Danny actually kicks him in the hamstring.  

“God, you’re such a show-off,” he grouses. Danny grabs a handful of his shirt, hauling him down, and Steve goes with a laugh.

Steve tries valiantly to keep his balance as Danny tugs his shirt of his arms, but eventually he topples over onto his side and Danny eagerly follows. Steve squirms, finally pulling his shirt all the way off, and tosses it to the side. He rolls on top of Danny again and kisses him, relishing in the feel of Danny’s sneaky hands everywhere on his torso.

Danny props himself up on one elbow and reaches for his own shirt with his other hand, but Steve quickly shoves him back down flat onto his back.

“Uh-uh,” he says, breathing hard. “Let me.”

Steve plants one hand firmly on Danny’s chest, which is rising and falling rapidly, and uses the other to undo each button, slowly. Steve gently spreads the shirt, running his hands down Danny’s chest, and finally reaches for his tie. Danny holds his breath and looks Steve right in the eye as he slowly undoes the knot and tugs it away from the collar. While maintaining the eye contact, Steve noses his way down Danny’s chest and gets a hand on his belt.

“You don’t, uh,” Danny stammers, and Steve is gratified to know that the hand gestures don’t go away during sex. “Have to.”

Steve pauses in his exploration of Danny’s chest, then levers himself back up. “God, I want to,” he says darkly right into Danny’s ear, and the pained groan that tears out of Danny is just about the best fucking thing Steve’s ever heard.

He doesn’t even try to hide his grin as he works his way back down Danny’s torso, faster this time, kissing and biting until his chin bumps against the waistband of his pants. He hastily does away with Danny’s belt and pants, tossing them away over his shoulder.

Steve turns back to Danny, but something about the sight of him, all laid out there in Steve’s bed, makes him freeze. He sneaks his fingers under the edge of his boxers, tries to ground himself, but it’s not working—he’s freaking out. He ducks his head so Danny can’t see and closes his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. Steve presses a kiss to Danny’s thigh and blows out a quick breath. This can’t be too difficult, right? He has one, after all, he should be able to figure it out.

“Hey,” Danny says softly, and Steve jerks his head up at the sound. Danny’s head is raised off the pillow, his brow creased, and he beckons Steve with his hand.

“Come here,” Danny says, and he isn’t taking no for an answer as he pulls hard at Steve’s shoulders.

“I—” Steve starts to say, but Danny just smiles and kisses him instead, using his own technique on him as he slings an arm around his neck.

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief against Danny’s mouth and submits, allowing Danny to roll them over. Danny braces himself on one elbow, his mouth eager and hot, as he reaches the other hand down to unbuckle and unzip Steve’s pants. He tries to help, wiggling and kicking his legs to finally dislodge his pants and his boxers, and then hauls Danny more fully on top of him. Steve whines, he can’t help it, and he thrusts his hips up—as much to feel Danny’s solid weight on top of him as to feel Danny’s cloth-covered dick against his.

Steve’s hand slides from Danny’s hair to his face. He hasn’t shaved, and Steve relishes in the scrape against his skin as he rubs his thumb across Danny’s jaw.

“God, babe, you’re—” Danny stops, shaking his head, and Steve just tilts his head up to kiss him again.

“You’re perfect,” Steve hears a few seconds later, muffled, against his mouth, and he smiles into the kiss.

Danny finally breaks away from Steve’s mouth and heads for his chest, alternating bruising kisses with sharp sucks on his nipples as he goes further and further down, deliberately sliding his skin against Steve’s. Steve holds his breath in anticipation, then lets it all out on a harsh moan as Danny’s calloused hand grabs his dick. Danny’s broad fucking shoulders are between Steve’s thighs now, holding him open, and Steve can’t tell whether he wants to resist against the exposure or give in.

But he doesn’t have to choose because Danny just goes to town, all hard and fast suction right away, and there’s no way Steve can do anything about all the little noises that are coming from him. He’s _wanted_ for so long—specifically Danny for quite a while but this in general for even longer—and it feels so fucking good to finally be able to have it, the buzz of adrenaline prickling under his skin even purer than how it feels before he jumps out of a helicopter.

Steve’s got both hands in Danny’s hair, one holding on hard at the nape of his neck and the other continuously smoothing the hair from Danny’s forehead so Steve can see his face. He’s trying to be good—thrusting his hips is not polite—but he’s definitely shifting restlessly. God, Danny’s mouth is so good, so hot and wet that Steve can barely stand it. He should be embarrassed about how quickly he’s going to come, but it just feels too good to care.

“Fuck, Danny,” Steve manages to get out, though he’s not really sure he remembers how to put words in the right order. He tugs a little harder on Danny’s hair, but he doesn’t seem to get the message, instead just sucking harder around the head and—oh my fucking god—starting to hum just a little bit.

There’s a hand on Steve’s balls, suddenly, and that’s it—Steve arches his back and comes with a long, low groan. It seems to go on forever, shattering him from the inside out, and just when he thinks it’s over, Danny sucks again, gently, and drags one last spurt out of him.

Danny surges up and kisses him immediately, grinding his dick into the edge of Steve’s twitching abs as Steve tries to come down from his orgasm. He is overwhelmed, in the best way, by the taste of himself in Danny’s mouth, and he strains up against Danny just to feel him press him back down.

“That,” Danny says, triumphant and a bit breathless when he pulls back, “is my new favorite face.”

Steve laughs, a little hysterically, and tries to get his breath back. “God, that was—”

Danny grins at him, his eyes bright, and Steve just _wants_. Emboldened by his orgasm and all the hormones rushing through his bloodstream, he flips Danny onto his back and holds him down, hard, with his hands wrapped around his hips and his thumbs resting in the grooves. He tugs Danny’s boxers down, wedges his shoulders in between his legs, and takes his sweet time looking around. Not that he has much to compare it to, since this is the first dick Steve has been up close and personal with, but he certainly thinks it’s a nice one. He wraps his hand around it and pumps a couple times, causing Danny to jerk up against Steve’s hold on his hip.

“Babe,” Danny says, and now every time he says that word, Steve is going to hear it in his head like this—rough, drawn-out, accompanied by a little whimper.

When Steve dips his head down and licks, just once, he is immediately rewarded by a sweet moan that he needs to hear again as soon as possible. It’s different to think about a blow job from this perspective, but Steve likes a challenge. He tries to best imitate what he likes and what Danny did, which isn’t difficult since it will be burned in his brain forever. Danny is so _hard_ , and Steve is surprised by how smooth he feels against his tongue.

Danny’s hands are everywhere, smoothing across Steve’s shoulders and over his face, and Steve turns into his touch even as he keeps going. It’s a little sloppy, probably, as Steve starts to suck more eagerly, but Danny doesn’t seem to mind, if the constant mumblings and groans are anything to go by. Suddenly they get louder more urgent in nature, and Steve speeds up.

“ _Stevestevesteve_ ,” Danny says, and he tries to sit up, tugging at Steve’s hair.

Steve lifts his head and opens his mouth to say something, but then Danny is sitting all the way up and pushing Steve over onto his back. Danny straddles his hips and reaches for Steve’s hand. There’s a question in his eye, and Steve nods eagerly, his eyes open wide. He grabs Danny’s dick, his hand gliding easily thanks to all the saliva, and Danny pushes into it, sighing with relief and bracing on his arms above Steve. It only takes a few long, hard strokes before Danny is groaning and coming, hips twitching as he spills in long streaks across Steve’s abs.

He’s frozen there for a second, mouth open, and Steve desperately tries to catalogue everything from the wild look in his eye to the strong definition of his shoulders as he slowly strokes Danny’s cock in a loose grip.   

Danny slumps down next to Steve and buries his face in his neck. “A+,” he mumbles, and Steve laughs. He shifts onto his side a little and runs his hand through Danny’s hair.

“Is this the only way to really shut you up?”

Danny only nods, his eyes still closed. A minute later he stumbles into the bathroom, staggering a little, and comes back with a warm, wet washcloth. He gingerly wipes Steve’s stomach clean and then falls back into bed against Steve’s chest.

“Thanks for, you know,” Danny says, gesturing vaguely toward Steve’s torso.

“You’ve been wanting to do that, haven’t you?” Steve says with a smile, and Danny laughs into his shoulder.

“Long time coming,” Danny says, clearly proud of his terribly joke, and Steve rolls his eyes but laughs, too.

* * *

Steve’s eyes pop open with the first rays of light, and he instantly relaxes under Danny’s weight and the smell of sex in the room. He’s wired, and he knows only one of two activities will help him calm down. One of those things requires the services of the person currently snoring in his bed—and Steve knows better than to wake him—so to the ocean it is.

Danny doesn’t even stir as Steve slips out of bed. He pads downstairs, pulls on a pair of boardies, and jogs into the water for what ends up being the most refreshing swim he can remember in ages.

Steve trudges out of the waves a very happy 45 minutes later, and his heart rate picks back up when he sees Danny on the lanai. He’s standing there, practically glowing thanks to the rays of the early morning sun, and Steve has literally never wanted something so fucking bad in his entire life, hand to god.

He strolls up to the lanai and doesn’t stop, walking up toward Danny and immediately wrapping him in a bear hug.

“Hey, hey, hey, Aquaman,” Danny says, trying to squirm out of Steve’s range. “Seriously? If I wanted to be wet, I would have gone in the water.”

“Whoops,” Steve says, shamelessly pulling off Danny’s shirt. “Sorry I got you all wet there, guess you should take this off now.”

“And these, too?” Danny says with a smile, pointing to his boxers.

“Mhmm,” Steve says seriously, moving in close. “Definitely, those gotta go.”

Danny just laughs, and Steve hides a smile in his neck. He could get used to this.


End file.
